The Forgiveness Factor
by Kianda
Summary: A continuation of the story "The Long Road Home".
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with 'em._

The Forgiveness Factor

Written by: Kianda

"_Forgiveness does not change the past, but it does enlarge the future."_

_Paul Boese_

Chapter One

******************************************

Twenty-eight year old Firefighter/Paramedic John Rodrick Gage, A.K.A. _Johnny_, of Station 51, blew past his opponent to set up a mid-court shot. As the ball left his hands, both men watched it sail up and swish through the net.

"Ha, I win." The champion's arms rose in victory.

His winded Irish opponent currently leaning over, trying to catch his breath, gave his triumphant co-worker a look of displeasure.

"Gloating isn't cool." Straightening up, still breathing hard his thick mustache lifted as he spoke, "I was doing you a solid Gage, cuz, you've been out of practice awhile, and I didn't feel I should take advantage of ya."

"Sure Kelly, _whatever_ you say." Johnny lobbed the ball at him. His friend caught it and let it drop.

"You don't believe me? I'm cut man." Chet dramatically placed both hands over his heart and staggered.

Rolling his eyes, Johnny picked up a towel wiping the sweat from his face and neck. "You make a good point. I _am _out of practice_."_

"See? What I tell ya."

Wearing a smirk Johnny enlightened his friend, "Yeah, I'm outta practice alright cuz I didn't beat you by my usual ten points."

______

Smiling he changed into a dry set of clothes thinking, and not for the first time, how good it felt to be working again. Upon his return from Montana he itched to come back. To his disappointment and frustration Brackett, as thorough as ever, kept him out an additional two weeks until satisfied with his mental and physical status.

While he disliked being idle, the extra couple of weeks gave him the opportunity to reflect on his trip to the Big Sky Country, and its significance. He came away from his childhood home with a heightened sense of balance, no longer consumed by the powerful draw of his past. Though he still wrestled with some issues, he could put them into perspective dealing with them one at a time. The trip yielded more than he had expected. He met his half-sister, felt the sting of deception, from a beloved family member, and confronted the man who tormented his teen years. His father now a recovering alcoholic, sat in a wheelchair looking old, tired, and wanting forgiveness. Forgiveness he did not grant. He left with the knowledge he may have fought the battle but didn't win the war.

"Johnny you have a phone call," Roy said breaking into his musing.

"Thanks Roy." Securing the last button on his clean uniform shirt, he headed for the kitchen instead of using the phone in the locker room.

"Hello Mr. Gage? This is Kevin Brown. I hope this isn't a bad time to talk? I'd phoned the station earlier, but you were out on a call."

Immediately Johnny's body stiffened. "I've been meaning to phone you. Is everything alright with Ryan?"

"Better than most days I admit. I wanted to inform you of Judge Forsyth's decision. We have guardianship of Ryan starting today."

His body relaxed. "That's fantastic news Mr. Brown. How's Ryan doing with all of this?"

"He's been patient through it all. Your deposition and letter must have been powerful persuaders; otherwise I don't think the judge would have granted custody. We owe you more than we can ever repay."

Johnny shook his head as he spoke into the phone. "No, I just told the truth Mr. Brown."

"Rodger will be in jail six months for his DUI. He will also have a three year probationary period. Part of his probation requires he attend spousal abuse counseling, paired with Parent Anonymous and alcohol abuse classes. While it isn't a permanent solution," Kevin explained, "it will give Ryan a calmer home situation which he'd been missing from his life. Margery has to attend Parents Anonymous classes and must show prove she's been attending. They also want her to attend battered wife counseling."

"Thanks for sharing this information with me," Johnny said. "I would like to keep in contact with Ryan, maybe visit with him once a week, if it's okay by you?"

"I don't see a problem," Kevin told him. "I'll run it past Ryan but I'm sure he'll like the idea too."

"I have your phone number so I'll call the house before I come out." Johnny rang off.

The klaxons sounded.

"_Station 51, multi-vehicle accident with injuries, 1/2 mile north __on the highway __from the entrance to the Cement and Gravel Works located at 1389 Sepulveda Blvd, 1.3.8. 9 Sepulveda Blvd. Police and ambulance have been dispatched. Time out 13:11."_

"Station 51 KMG 365."

"Looks like a bad one." Mike commented as he expertly slowed the engine and parked as close to the scene as possible without compromising safety. The hissing of air-brakes almost drowned out Hanks reaction.

"_Phew_."

The three vehicle accident involved a large dump truck, a small utility vehicle, and an automobile. Of the three, the utility vehicle suffered the worst damage. Sandwiched between the dump truck and the automobile, the driver of the truck tried at the last minute to avoid the accident by cutting his wheel to the right. By the skid marks on the road, the driver behind him tried to stop but didn't have enough space or time. The collision forced the driver's side of the smaller truck underneath the dump truck The dump truck's box bed had partially risen, sending the majority of its payload of crushed stone, directly on top of the truck. A feeling of urgency gripped everyone as they took in the scene. The police stopped and rerouted traffic.

As his men jumped from the rig Captain Stanley fired off, "Kelly, grab the shovels and make sure nothing's leaking from any of the vehicles. Lopez, check on the driver of the auto. Stoker, see if you can't lower the box bed." Hank keyed the engines microphone. "LA Engine 51 at scene. Send an additional ambulance and a wrecker to this location. Engine 51, out thirty five minutes."

The steady voice of the dispatcher replied, "Engine 51."

The odor of dirt and stone pervaded the area as Johnny and Roy exited the squad. Immediately both were confronted by an older gentleman, breathing hard, and pointing excitedly to the smaller vehicle.

"Help my son. He's trapped in there."

Hank joined the two paramedics.

"All right Sir," Johnny advised. "Calm down and tell us what happened."

Roy took off for the buried truck. After a moment he called out. "Sir can you hear me?" with no returning answer.

The man continued to explain,"I was driving the dump truck, my son driving behind me. We'd pulled out onto the highway, and hadn't gone very far, when I heard a pop. The mechanism for the bed box malfunctioned and it started rising. I slowed down getting ready to pull over. I'm not sure what happened next, it happened so fast. All I know is I'm being pushed forward into the steering wheel. I realize it's my son's truck who hit me. The bed kept rising and the load spilled." Looking at the result, and not hearing his son answer Roy's call cried, "Ohm God, my son may be dead!"

"Sir," Johnny cautioned. "Settle down. We don't know anything yet."

Mike approached. "Cap, the box bed mechanism is shot, and she won't lower."

Gerry's voice rose, "Don't you think I already tried lowering it?"

"Take it easy," Hank suggested with a touch of firmness.

Mike gave the man a sympathetic glance and trotted toward his crew members grabbing a shovel on the way. He could see Roy trying to find an access point.

"Sir, are you experiencing pain anywhere?"

Seeing his paramedic take the situation in hand, Hank grabbed a yellow plastic blanket from the squad and spread it on the ground. To this he added the bio-phone and other equipment his medics would need.

Roy came hurrying back. "In order to gain access Cap, we'll have to dig at least partway in."

"Get my son out please!"

"Johnny you have this?" He indicated Gerry with a motion of his head.

His partner nodded. Roy met Marco who was leading a somewhat dazed young man, blood streaming from a head laceration, over to the blanket area.

"Sir, are you experiencing pain anywhere other than your head?" Roy asked, guiding him to the blanket and gently lowering him down.

"No, and I can't believe I was spared," The man said nervously. "You gotta help the dude in the truck. I tried to stop I really did. I feel so bad. He was yelling until just a little while ago."

"You try and relax now," Roy said, "We're helping him sir. What's your name?"

"Jack."

"Jack, I'm Roy, It looks like you cut your head, I'm just gonna check you out here if it's okay?"

"Do what you gotta do."

Curious, Roy asked. "Been through this before?"

"No, I'm a volunteer Red Cross worker. I've seen you guys in action."

Roy determined Jack suffered a small laceration to his scalp, rattled nerves, and some superficial bruises from his brush with the truck. Since blood loss was negligible and controlled right away Rampart didn't order an IV.

Roy spoke into the bio-phone. "Standby for vitals on additional two victims Rampart."

"Standing by, 51."

"This just about does it," Roy told the accident victim securing the last bit of tape to his head bandage.

"Thanks man."

"Sit here," the paramedic directed. "If anything at all starts to hurt let us know. A policeman will be over shortly to get your statement. Once the ambulance arrives they will take you to the hospital, you'll need some stitches."

"I'm really sorry about this. I came around the corner, saw what was happening, slammed on the breaks —I hope he's gonna be okay."

"This wasn't anybody's fault, that's why they call 'em accidents."

"I hear what you're saying."

Roy nodded, glanced once at his partner, and took off again. He joined the others in the the digging process.

Meanwhile, Johnny had his hands full trying to gain cooperation from a difficult victim. He refused to sit, his attention wrapped up in what the rescuers were doing.

"Sir," Johnny forced the man's attention. "What's your name?"

"Gerry. Gerry McDonald."

"Gerry my name is John," The paramedic told him visually checking him for injury. "I'm here to help you. Your son is being seen too. How old are you?"

"60"

"You're son's name?"

"Sean."

"His age?" Johnny reached for Gerry's wrist glancing down at his watch.

"30. He's my youngest son." Gerry's gaze was riveted on the buried truck. "Why are you asking me all these questions, help my son!"

Johnny released the man's wrist, and jotting down his findings. "Mr. McDonald we are helping your son. My job is to be sure you weren't injured." A purplish bruise stood out on Gerry's forehead.

"Does your head hurt?"

Distractedly Gerry answered, "No more than it has been hurting today. Please get my son outta there. I can't believe this has happened."

Attempting to lessen the man's anxiety, Johnny deftly turned his patient so his line of site wasn't directly facing the smaller vehicle. "I'd like to give you a quick exam. It looks like you hit your head."

"You don't understand. I've got to help my boy." Gerry started toward the smaller vehicle.

Both Johnny and Hank stopped him.

"Hold on now," Hank said locking onto the victims elbow. "My men are doing everything they can to help your son, Mr. McDonald."

"He's got a ton of rock on him!" Gerry said explosively wiping sweat from his forehead, grimacing when he came into contact with his bruised brow.

"I can understand you wanting to help, sir, but my men are trained to do this," Hank stated firmly. "Why don't you come over to the rig with me, we'll get your information, and my paramedic can check you out to be sure you're OK." He kept his tone friendly, but decisive. "It won't take long," and added, "You may have injuries you're not aware of."

Gerry looked once more toward where the men were digging and slowly nodded his consent. He spied Jack and yelled, ""You son of…!"

"Hey," Johnny said sternly. "Settle down. That kinda talk won't help anything, Mr. McDonald."

Hank glanced over to the man sitting in the triage area. He looked upset. 51's commander led his equally upset and vocal victim to the running board of the engine and sat him down. Johnny gave his captain a loaded look of thanks, resuming the exam and aiming his penlight at Gerry's pupils. Both equally responded to light.

"John, will you all right by yourself?" Hank asked. When Johnny nodded, Hank grabbed a shovel, gave a reassuring word to the man on the blanket, and joined his men.

The paramedic began asking Gerry a series of questions. "Can you move your neck alright?"

"I told you I didn't get hurt."

"You said you've had a headache today?"

"I've been feeling a bit run down lately." Gerry conceded.

"Have you seen a doctor?"

"No."

Johnny asked Gerry the usual questions, did he suffer from any serious health problems now or in the past, heart problems, blood pressure etc. Did he have allergies to any medications or currently taking any medications or drugs? The answers were no.

The whole time Johnny asked questions he assessed for injury.

"Are you having discomfort or pain anywhere other than having a headache?"

Frustration dripped off the older man as he said curtly, "I already told you I'm fine!"

Johnny was gently feeling around Gerry's head. "I know these questions may seem unimportant, but the answers help me to help you."

Johnny proceeded to attach a blood pressure cuff to Gerry's arm. In the background he could hear the shovels clanging against the gravel as his shift-mates continued to dig. Glancing up it looked like they almost had access to the passenger side door.

Fidgeting Gerry expressed, "Is this really necessary?"

"I'm almost finished," Johnny placated, starting to become frustrated. Gerry's showed signs of stress; his blood pressure elevated, but considering the circumstances were normal.

An officer made his way toward the engine.

"Vince," Johnny acknowledged.

"Johnny," Vince returned, walking passed heading in the direction of the man sitting on the blanket.

Both ambulances arrived minutes apart. As the younger paramedic finished his exam he told one of the ambulance drivers that Jack was ready for transport. The man walked unaided into the ambulance, with Vince following still asking questions. The attendants from the second ambulance brought out a stretcher.

Johnny relayed vitals and findings on the elder McDonald. No evidence of concussion, but with the elevated blood pressure, and Gerry's age coming into play, Rampart suggested a trip in.

"I'm not leaving without my son." Gerry stated emphatically.

Johnny reported this to Rampart.

"51 have the patient sit quietly until transport. Monitor BP en route. What about vitals on the third victim?"

"We're working on it Rampart, standby for vitals. Be advised victim one is being transported at this time."

"Al," Johnny addressed one of the ambulances attendants, pulling him aside and lowering his voice. "Keep an eye on Gerry would ya? I'm going over to help Roy."

"Sure Johnny," Al answered.

"Gerry," Johnny told the agitated man. "Al will stay with you while I go check on your son."

Vince waited until Johnny left before he began asking Gerry questions for his report.

A small area had been dug and cleared on the passenger side of the truck when Johnny joined his crew-mates. Looking through the unbroken passenger window,the seat belted victim lay slumped over, unconscious. The windshield on the drivers side had partially caved in. Stone had spilled into the cab covering the seat and encasing his lower extremities. A cut on the bridge of his nose slowly dripped blood onto the seat.

Gaining access through the passenger side door proved no easy feat. Marco and Chet, both sweating extensively, managed to wrench the door open with the use of crowbars. Rocks shifted and poured from the cab at their feet. Carefully removing gravel from inside the cab the paramedics uncovered the victim's legs. Both were wedged tightly under the buckled dashboard.

Roy looked to Mike. "Mike, we're gonna need the jaws."

The junior paramedic suggested, "Short-board Roy?" Roy approved.

"I'll get it." Marco volunteered.

Reaching in and gently grasping a wrist, Johnny felt a steady bumping against his fingers. "He's alive." He told his partner. "Pulse is steady." He gently placed a nasal cannula under the man's nose and switched on the oxygen. He then secured a cervical collar in place and softly checking the nose for fracture.

Macro returned with the backboard.

The victim groaned. "Roy he's coming around."

"Easy Sean," Johnny cautioned. "You've been involved in an automobile accident. You need to stay still and calm for me."

Dazed Hazel eyes opened to Johnny's voice. "W- What…?

"Easy."

Giving another groan, not quite with it yet, Sean's face reflected his pain. He pulled at the cannula. "Jesus, my legs hurt," he said groggily. His eyes went round in panic as the full extent of his predicament slammed home, "Dad!"

Johnny's responded instantly, gently placing the cannula back on Sean's face. "Your father is fine Sean. He wasn't seriously hurt."

The younger McDonald moaned, filled with anxiety. "I just started working with him. He's gotta be through the roof over this—never gonna forgive me for wrecking his truck."

"You don't worry about that now," Johnny soothed. "We'll have you outta here soon." He could see Sean needed further reassurance. "Try and relax. The whole time I was with your father he didn't sound angry but worried." He took Sean's blood pressure. "BP is130/90, Roy. Tell me where you're hurting Sean."

"Legs and neck hurt the most."

"Alright Sean," the senior paramedic explained when Johnny removed the BP cuff, "we're going to slip this back board behind you. It's to protect your spine as a precaution. We'll do the work. Let us know if anything hurts."

The short back-board precisely centered between the seat and Sean's back, was strapped to his body. A soft neck support placed on either side of the c-collar, for further stability, was secured and his head strapped to the board with the fastening coming around his forehead.

"How are you doing Sean?' Roy asked, retaking his pulse, respiration and BP. Sean was fully alert now, displaying no sign of respiratory issues. His pulse remained steady along with his BP. Roy couldn't believe the man's good fortune.

Sean grimaced, "What about the other driver?

"He's doing well. How's the leg pain?"

"Tolerable."

Mike returned with the Jaws, told the trapped man what they were planning to do, positioned the extrication tool's tip just under the smashed dash and floor, and covered the top half of Sean's body with Johnny's turnout coat. Safety goggles in place he powered up the machine. The scrunch of metal could be heard, as the jaws opened up a space wide enough to free the man's legs.

"Oh man!" Sean cried at the release of his legs against the dash.

"Hang in there." Roy encouraged, "you're doing fine."

Carefully Johnny pressed into the cab feeling for broken bones. Amazingly there weren't any.

"Where ready to move Sean, relax as much as you can. Let us do the heavy stuff."

"No problem just do it."

Cautiously the paramedics slid the accident victim from the crushed front end of his vehicle.

"Easy." Roy crooned. "Easy."

Sean was placed on a long board and the rescuer's carried him toward the triage area. Once treatment commenced Sean's father, no longer able to sit still, hovered nervously nearby rubbing his neck and jaw.

"Son you're going to be fine."

"I'm okay Dad. Forgive me for wrecking the truck."

"Sean, you think I care about the damn truck? I'm thankful you weren't killed." He walked away.

The younger McDonald had no sign of concussion. His nose wasn't broken. His left knee showed indications of swelling with a dark bruise forming. A gash to his right leg would require stitches and a thorough cleaning, but the bleeding had slowed, and unbelievably there weren't any sign of severe or internal injury. If 51's men weren't looking at clear evidence they wouldn't have believed it. Dr. Morton ordered an IV of normal saline and MS for the pain. After bandaging the gash and immobilizing the knee the lucky victim was ready for transport.

"Sir you can ride up front—" Hank stopped short. He found Gerry leaning up against the ambulance looking positively ill.

"Not feeling well," the man confirmed.

"DeSoto!" the sandy haired paramedic came around the side of the ambulance to see his captain lowering a very pale Gerry to the ground.

"Take it slow," Hank told Gerry.

Grabbing the spare oxygen canister off the squad Roy hurried to the fallen man's side, checked his pulse, found it to be rapid and weak, and gave him oxygen via nasal cannula, "What happened?" He began loosening the distressed man's clothing.

Hank informed his medic, "He complained of being unwell."

Johnny!" Roy shouted. "Cap can you have Chet stay with the Sean?"

"Gerry, are you experiencing chest pains?" Roy asked the heavily sweating man.

"No," Gerry answered. "More like heaviness, weak, kinda sick. My heart feels like it's beating outside my chest."

From the back of the ambulance Roy heard Sean shout. "What's happening?" and Chet's calm reply, "Its okay man, the paramedics are looking at your father now."

Grabbing the defibrillator and setting up the bio-phone once again, Johnny looked to Roy, "Did I miss something?"

His partner didn't answer the question.

The black-haired paramedic reestablished a connection with Rampart, gave initial information on Gerry, repeated his age and weight, and told Rampart to stand by for vitals, which he gathered. Roy patched him to the monitor.

"Rampart vitals are BP 135/80 respiration 28; Pulse 176 and regular. We have patient on 4 liters of oxygen. Patient is conscious and denies chest pain but is complaining of a sudden onset of chest heaviness, body weakness, and nausea. Sending you a strip, this will be lead two."

The monitor showed a ventricular tachycardia with a rate of 155.

After a slight hesitation, Dr. Morton ordered. "51 start IV normal saline, TKO. Administer Lidocaine, 1 mg/kg IV bolus. Keep him on O2. Repeat vitals."

Gerry's heart rhythm stabilized after an additional "push" of 0.75 mg Lidocaine. He was placed in the ambulance along with his son and transported.

Roy rode in with the patients.

When the two paramedics hooked up at the nurses station, Roy could tell something was troubling his partner. "What's wrong?"

Rubbing his chin Johnny said, "I can't help think I screwed up."

"No and listen up junior, Brackett and I would have been all over you, if you had."

"Roy…"

"No. We base our findings on what a patient tell us along with the physical exam. He chose not to inform us of his previous heart attack Johnny and he didn't present with initial symptoms."

Dixie remarked,"Sounds like an eventful run for you boys."

"It made up for a slack morning." Roy enlightened the ER head nurse. "How's the first victim doing?"

"Treated and released, he needed five stitches."

Johnny gave his opinion."Weird is how I'd put it. Everyone involved escaped serious injury—especially the son. I didn't expect him to make it out of the truck without a severe crush injury. I would have bet money on it. Instead, he's slightly banged up. The father is another story."

Roy explained for Dixie's benefit, "During assessment, Johnny asked the father if he'd had prior or ongoing problems with his heart. The man withheld he'd had a previous heart attack eight months ago. He also neglected to mention he had been put on a beta blocker, and decided to recently stop taking it without telling anyone."

"For heaven sakes," Dixie exclaimed. "I wonder why he kept the information to himself? Didn't the son mention anything?"

Roy enlightened her, "This is where the story takes a turn. The son learned about his father's first heart-attack on the way in. It seems the two had a major falling out, hadn't talked for a number of years, and only recently came together again. The family never notified the son about the father's hospitalization. He feels responsible; he thinks reconciling wasn't such a good idea convinced the circumstances of his working for his father facilitated his father's attack. I tried to convince him it wasn't his fault, but I don't think I got through. He told us the the family blames him for his father's first attack, stating the stress of job and his son being gone became to much. Crazy."

"I'd say." Dixie agreed. "Families can be so complicated."

______

Seated on the passenger side of the squad during the return trip to the station Roy announced, "Since we have the Fourth of July off Joanne suggested a get-together at the house, instead of hanging out at the beach with the kids."

"Oh yeah, who ya gonna invite?"

"Jo's working on the list. You know how complicated it can get with who's working, who's not working, who's away etc."

"I don't envy Joanne that task." Johnny grinned looking into the side mirror.

"I'm not sure what you're plans are but if you're around…."

"I thought maybe I'd spend the day hiking, though nothings finalized."

Roy nodded. Johnny went camping or hiking on a regular basis. "Jo suggested inviting the Browns. Ryan might like meeting the kids. What do you think?"

Johnny considered the suggestion. "I think Ryan and Chris would get along great. I've asked permission to see Ryan once a week, kind a like a big brother."

This wasn't news to Roy as he had overheard the phone conversation Johnny had this morning. "It's very generous of you, sharing time with Ryan. I can see it being a positive experience for the both of you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, partner." Roy answered honestly.

To everyone else Johnny might seem back to his old self but Roy could detect something buried beneath the surface. Johnny hadn't talked about his trip to Montana and even though he was curious as hell, he wouldn't ask. Johnny did things on his own time table and Roy respected it. Although his friend had been repeatedly warned about becoming emotionally involved with Ryan's problem, Johnny couldn't ignore it. He felt a strong connection to the boy and wouldn't or couldn't just walk away.

Watching the scenery roll by Roy said, "I'll have Joanne add them to the list." He switched topics. "What time are you planning on coming over tomorrow to help with the gutters?"

Johnny blurted, "Oh man, was that tomorrow Roy?" A puzzled frown crinkled his brow. He had volunteered to help Roy with the project on their next scheduled day off.

Seeing the "look" Roy leveled at him, Johnny burst into laughter.

Realizing he'd just been had, Roy warned, "Careful junior or you won't be sitting in the driver's seat for much longer."

A hint of humor tinted Johnny's words while trying to appear serious. "_Oh_, sorry pally won't happen again."

_____

The next day, the off duty paramedic slept until two o'clock, took care of his laundry, helped Roy clean his gutters and had a great evening. He'd taken out Olivia Moore, a young nurse working in radiology. It went reasonably well even though it had ended much earlier than both of them wanted. Olivia needed to be at work early in the morning She did hint she'd be open for a second date. Whistling as he came to his apartment door he heard the jingling of the phone. Hurriedly entering, he picked up the receiver in mid-ring.

Johnny?" His sister's voice came over the line.

"Hi pipsqueak," Johnny alert to the quirky sound to her tone, glanced at the clock. It was going on 10:30 PM. "Is everything okay it's kinda late for you isn't it?"

"Nope."

"No, everything isn't okay or no it isn't late?" Since his return from Montana, he talked with Lisa regularly. She normally didn't call this late in the evening.

"It's daddy."

"What's wrong?" His voice deepened with tension.

"He had one of those heart pains. He gets them mostly in the morning, but he had one a little while ago. Daddy told me he was fine after, but he went to bed. He never goes to sleep before me, I'm scared."

Johnny heard his sister's fear. "What was he doing, Lisa, when he started feeling ill?"

"Watching TV, a baseball game I think."

"Did he get upset?"

"His team was losing, but he didn't care."

"Did you call your mother?" His step-mother, a psychiatric nurse worked the second shift at the community hospital in Glacial County.

"Mommy told me she had to wait for her replacement before she could leave."

"Let me have the phone number to the hospital and I'll call her," Johnny told his eight year old half-sister. "It'll be okay. You can call the Fosters if you need help honey, or an ambulance."

"I know. It's just—I'm not supposed to say anything 'bout this, but Daddy hasn't been the same since you left. He's been really quiet and sad most days. I miss the old Daddy."

Not having an answer for her he declined to comment. His father had extended the olive branch by apologizing to him for his years of misery, looking for forgiveness. He had not been able to grant it. The scars he bore from the emotional and physical battering were deeply embedded.

"Do you wanna talk with Daddy? Lisa asked hopefully"

Johnny hesitated before answering, "Yeah let me talk with him, but first tell me the number to the hospital."

Lisa supplied him with the number. "I'll go wake Daddy."

A minute passed before Johnny heard another phone being picked up.

"John?" His father questioned his words sleep weighted, "what's this about?"

"Lisa called me and said you didn't feel well tonight."

"She shouldn't have bothered you about this."

Johnny couldn't miss the edge to his father's voice, so he cut right to the chase. "How are you feeling now?"

"I'm surprised to hear you asking. I told Lisa I'm fine, just tired." His voice sounded off, strained and flat, suffused with with a trace of anger. "Did you want anything else?"

His father struck him as being stable. He wasn't hearing signs of distress in his tone, "No. If you say you're alright then I'll let you go back to sleep. I'm sorry I disturbed you. Let me talk with Lisa before you hang up."

He listened as his father instructed Lisa to use the phone in the living room."

"Johnny I think I made Daddy mad," She sounded worried. "I shouldn't have called you."

"No Lisa you did the right thing by calling me."

"Kay J-Johnny." He got the feeling at any moment she would burst into tears.

There was only so much he could do from a distance. "Listen honey, Dad said he was okay and I believe him," he tried to calm his sister. "You're mom will be home soon. You should head off to bed."

"Shouldn't I wait up for Mommy just in case?"

"Sweetheart it isn't necessary, but if it'll make you feel better, grab a blanket and lay on the couch until your mom comes in."

"Thanks Johnny. I knew you would help."

"That's what a big brother is for."

"_Old _brother you mean?" Lisa giggled."

"Watch it brat."

"Wait, don't' I hang up yet. I wanna tell you I wrote to Jennifer."

"She'll like that small fry. I hope you two can become friends."

"Me too."

"Are you feeling better?"

Yep. bye Firefly." The nickname gave him a start. He'd given her permission to use it; it was just strange to hear it from her.

_____

Before he changed his mind he dialed the number to the community hospital. He waited while they connected him to the proper floor and located his stepmother.

Her greeting was decidedly chilly.

"I planned on phoning you Johnny, it's time you were made aware of a few things." An underlying inflection of anger surfaced as she talked. "The aftermath of your visit has had repercussions none of us were prepared for."

"What are you talking about Liz?"

She disclosed his father had suffered two additional angina attacks since the one he'd witnessed a few weeks ago. "He's refusing to let Doctor Logan run another ECG."

"You're angry with me"

Instead of an acknowledgment she told him, "I'd warned your sister against mentioning this, in her letters or phone conversations, but you might as well know. You're father is suffering from depression."

"Lisa mentioned it tonight."

"She doesn't understand his refusal to do things he once enjoyed with her. John's retreated into this brooding silent world."

He filtered through her anger to understand she was frightened.

"You're visit—" she confirmed, "hit him hard. He's going through his own self-inflicted what ifs."

"I hope you aren't holding me responsible."

He heard her sigh. "When you left you made it clear you weren't interested in mending fences, Johnny. He's been depressed over this ever since."

"I don't know what to tell you," He said coolly.

"If you aren't troubled about his welfare can I ask you why you called me tonight?"

"I never implied I wasn't interested in his welfare, but I called for Lisa's sake."

"I see."

He got the impression she wasn't buying his answer.

"If you knew me better Johnny you would know I'm a straight hip shooter. You can tell me to butt out, get lost, whatever—after I'm done. The person who abused you years ago no longer exists. In his place sits a stranger you do not understand and this frightens you."

He inhaled sharply. "What? Where are we going with this Liz?"

"Lisa and I play second fiddle to his past. The shadow of his former family is always present."

As she talked Johnny could hear the hospital's intercom going off in the background.

"He held on to the belief that one day his son would come home. Now that you have, and it didn't quite work out the way he envisioned it would, the hope is gone and he sees this as a failure. I caught him looking at his AA chip." Liz shared. "This is the first time since he's been clean and sober I am afraid he may backslide. I warned him this could happen."

Johnny ran a hand through his hair. He felt like a child being chastised. He didn't mention the brief stiff phone conversation he'd just had with his father. "I made him no promises."

"I know you didn't. He figured you would at least talk to him over the phone when you called for Lisa, yet you haven't. I don't want to be a hard-ass—_you_ came back into _our lives_ Johnny. He didn't seek you out Lisa did. While I'm happy you embraced her as you're family and want to share in her life, something you said when you were here, has since bothered me."

A decided frost entered his tone, "Go on."

"You thought because your father remarried, and wanted a child, he'd somehow erased you and the memory of your mother from the picture. It isn't so, in fact just the opposite. He wanted a child to bring back what he'd lost. He visits the grave of your mother on a regular basis. He loves his daughter, there no mistaking it, but mourns a life gone, and the lost connection of a son."

He absently began to twirl the phone cord in his hands. "Liz he wants more from me more then I can give at this point. I don't know if I can ever give him what he's looking for."

"I fully respect your choice not to have a relationship with him Johnny and I'm not asking you too, but I want you to understand something. Everything isn't painted black and white. There is a gray area here. John pulled his life together with the intention of seeking you out aiming for reconciliation. He wasn't given the opportunity to do it."

His hand tightened around the phone cord. "I'd rather not discuss my—"

"Please let me finish." She said swiftly, "I'm taking this opportunity while I have it. He sent you letters you never received. Your aunt prevented you from knowing his intentions—had him believing you wanted no contact. He respected those wishes thinking they were yours. The reasoning behind why your aunt did what she did is up for interpretation. Think on this Johnny. If your aunt hadn't interfered things may have turned out differently between you two.

"I can't change what my aunt did, Liz.," His explanation had a sharp bite to it. The pain of his aunt's deception, still fresh and keenly felt left a sour taste in his mouth. "I've come to the conclusion she thought she was protecting me. Why are we discussing my aunt anyway? It has no bearing on why I called you."

She brushed aside his answer. "In an odd sort of way it does."

Johnny was fast becoming impatient with this conversation and decided to be just as forthright. "I won't let him off the hook that easily." He felt the pressure of the phone cord wrapped around his hand and released the tension. He noted it left a red welt.

"Forgiveness doesn't mean letting one off the hook for past injustices Johnny. You should hold him accountable for those actions. True forgiveness involves a progression of steps; only to achieve it you must want to take the first step."

"What is it you're asking Liz?" Johnny hated psychobabble. "Get to the point."

"Like it or not, whether it is by fates hand, or the divine power of the universe, you have become intertwined in our lives through Lisa. I'm asking you to attempt the first step for the sake of Lisa's future. If John falters now, everything she knows will be stripped away."

An unpleasant sensation entered the pit of his stomach. Her reasons were sound. Liz understood her job well. She knew just what to say and how far to go with it, adding to his displeasure. Lisa was now part of his life. The last thing he wanted to see happen was his sister's childhood sacrificed to his father's indifference, like his had been. What made it worse? Liz knew this too.

"You weren't exaggerating about being a heavy hitter," He said testily.

"No one can erase the past for you Johnny; it will always be a part of your life story. You have an opportunity to move forward, to change the memory. It's up to you to take it. All I'm asking of you is to give it some thought.

A deep male voice interrupted, "Excuse me Liz, you can leave whenever you're ready,"

Ah, my replacement is here. I'll have a talk with Lisa about calling so late."

"Please don't Liz. I want Lisa to feel comfortable calling me whenever she needs too."

"We'll talk again soon." Liz finalized. "Think about what I've said Johnny."

"Yea," he commented now wearing a frown his good mood shattered.

His step-mother's words continued to sound long after he hung up.

_____

Roy asked his preoccupied partner the next morning, "What's wrong with you? Date didn't go well last night?"

"Huh? No, the date went fine."

"Then why the long face?"

"It's nothing." Changing the subject he said, "So what did you do after I left?"

"You mean after I mowed the lawn, used the weed whacker, and dug a couple of holes for Joanne's new plantings?"

"Okay," Johnny grinned, "I get it. You were busy."

"Believe me I would have much rather watched the kids play in the back yard. At least then I'd have been sitting."

Slinking into the room Chet commented. "I thought you'd be tired of watching kids Roy, cause you gotta watch Johnny here every day."

"Ha ha. Get lost Kelly," Johnny ordered tucking his shirt into his pants.

"Guess if you're gonna be that way, you don't need to hear the news I have," the Irishman wore a smug look rocking on his feet.

"What news?" Johnny said before thinking. He could smell a set up.

Chet grinned wolfishly. "The chick who works in admitting, the foxy one? I think her name is Denise? Johnny you know her cause she blew you off when ya asked her out."

Johnny rolled his eyes. "Her name is Denise. What about her?"

"The crazy chick asked Bellingham out on a date."

"Are you for real?" Johnny said.

"Jackson from 95s let it slip last night. He's dating the girl's roommate."

"Are you sure he said Bellingham?"

"Positive."

"C'mon guys," Roy attempted to still Chet's gossip. It had landed him into trouble on a few occasions. "It isn't our business."

"Roy, good buddy, I've tried to tell ya this before, its okay to be mean once in a while." Chet's laughter rang loud in the locker room. "The chick is certifiable, is all I'm sayin'. Chet slapped Johnny on the back, "Ya must be losing you're touch dude." His laughter followed him from the room.

When his partner said nothing Roy eyed Johnny sharply. "Okay, now I know something's up."

"Whuddaya mean?" Johnny closed his locker.

"Chet purposely told you that story to get a rise out of you. You didn't bite. Wanna talk about whatever it is that's got you a million miles away?"

"Not a million Roy, only a thousand and if I thought it would do any good I'd talk about it."

"We've traveled down this rocky path before junior." Roy warned.

"Then here's some advice ya might want have, step off, or find a smoother path."

Johnny's uncustomary flippancy left the senior paramedic at a complete loss for something to say.

_____


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with 'em._

Forgiveness Factor

Written by: Kianda

Chapter Two

* * *

Man, I'm bushed," Johnny, told his equally weary partner while departing the squad. At 3:30 a.m., a run for a woman in premature labor kept the adrenaline pumping. Now, with the crisis over, Johnny felt drained and wanting sleep. His cranky behavior toward his partner weighed on his mind. As the bay door closed, hopefully for the next couple of hours, he spoke stalling Roy's advance into the dorm. "Hold up Roy. I owe you an apology for snapping this morning. A phone conversation I had with my father's wife last night left me outta sorts."

Stopping at the back of the squad Roy gave his friend a steady, almost fatherly gaze. The last couple of months had been rough on his best friend. From an emotional standpoint, his cup overflowed. He was dealing with the consequences. If Johnny exhibited a little moodiness now and again, he would weather it.

"No apology is necessary junior. Let's get some sleep, I'm done in."

The Fourth of July came to Carson in its entire flag-waving splendor. An extra jolt of patriotism affected this year's celebration as it marked the 200th anniversary of the adoption of the Declaration of Independence; one could not travel far without spotting the red, white and blue, hanging from storefront windows, flapping proudly from porch rails, and lining the downtown parade route.

In honor of the nations 200th birthday flying from a number of flagpoles around town, and just underneath its parent, flew a special Bicentennial flag. A star with five curved edges adorned the white banner's center. The star's outside border thickly outlined in red, and the inside lined in blue, caught one's attention without being flashy. The creation of the banner became clear once one read the circle of black lettering surrounding the star_. "American Revolution, 1776–1976". _

From coast to coast the Fourth symbolized American spirit, a day of carefree celebration filled with food, family, and fireworks. Regrettably, for the fire department the highly celebrated holiday kept them on the go. On this particular day, people—alcohol—and fireworks were a dangerous mix.

Johnny had decided to spend the afternoon at Roy's place instead of hiking as he had planned. As luck would have it, he wound up working. He agreed to cover a shift for Parker Anderson; a fellow paramedic out of 116's who needed emergency time-off. Parker's brother Michael had been injured a in a freak boating accident, while vacationing in South Carolina.

When Johnny walked in, Stan Cooper, the senior medic for A-shift, enthusiastically welcomed his colleague. "Johnny my man you are a glutton for punishment working a double-shift."

"Johnny admitted, "I hadn't planned it." Already in a fresh uniform, he casually leaned against a closed locker. "I owed Parker this one, though I'm sorry to hear about his brother."

In the process of changing clothes, Stan stepped into his uniform trousers pulling them up. "Park, called me early this morning. His brother is expected to make a full recovery, despite the fact he'll need some down time in physically therapy."

"Great news," said Johnny sincerely.

"Morning Cooper, Gage," 116's engineer greeted both men as he passed on his way to the latrine.

After acknowledging the new arrival, Stan retrieved his uniform shirt from inside his locker and put it on. Pinning his nametag to his shirt he said, "I'm relieved you're filling in for Parker. I thought I'd be stuck with a trainee due to the holiday schedule. If luck is on our side it won't get too crazy."

"I wouldn't worry over it." Pushing his body away from the locker, as Stan stooped to tie his shoes, Johnny theorized, "If it follows past years, this shift is gonna be _exhausting_."

Straightening up and closing his locker, Stan slapped Johnny on the back. "If it follows past years, it will be _weird_. One can always hope it will be different. Let's grab a cup of coffee before the fun begins."

Letting out a huge yawn, Johnny said, "Now you're talking my language."

The replacement paramedic and his temporary partner were in for a busy day, but they did make a short appearance at the DeSoto get-together. Stan made a beeline for the food table; Johnny worked his way toward Roy who stood master over the grill. Friends mingled on the freshly mowed lawn, engaged in conversation while handling plates of food, or holding beverages. A few partygoers were shouting encouragement to the participants of a game of lawn darts, and Johnny heard the distinct ring of a horseshoe striking metal, further supported by the satisfied cry of "Ho, dead ringer." Younger children squealed as they ran through a sprinkler, and music filtered from the house. The aroma of grilling meat permeated the air reminding Johnny he'd missed lunch. The near cloudless sky, promised a great evening ahead for the special pyrotechnic show the town of Carson sponsored.

The working paramedic politely chatted with friends, before joining his partner on the deck.

"Hey, Johnny how's it going?" Roy inquired moving burgers around the grill.

"Not to bad considering it's a holiday, but it's early yet."

Roy nodded in acknowledgment. "Have you eaten? Can I get you a burger?"

Patting his stomach Johnny grinned. "Why ya think I'm up here? Fresh off the grill food? It doesn't get any better."

Before Roy could comment his daughter ran up on the deck, her little body wrapped in a towel.

"Uncle Johnny!" Jennifer greeted the favored 'uncle'.

He squatted so she could plant an enthusiastic kiss on his person.

Roy silently observed the interaction between his daughter and his best friend. A connection existed between the two he couldn't explain.

"I thought you forgot about today," He heard his daughter saying. "I've been waiting _forever_ for you."

Johnny remained in a squatting position to stay eye-level with her. "I came as soon as I could, pigeon, but, _forever_ is a long time to wait." He winked.

Jennifer agreed, "_Mm Hmm_. I've been waiting to tell you that your sister wrote to me."

Appearing as if he didn't know anything about it he said, "She did?

"Yep," the little girl began eyes bright. "You told her all about us and said it would be okay to write. I'm glad. I think I like your sister," Jen decided. "She wrote lots of stuff 'bout your house, school, oh yeah, and the horses. I already knew that cuz you told me." Jennifer bright eyes dimmed. "She misses you lots but she feels tons better when she phones. I wrote back. I said I would be _super_ sad too if you lived far away from me, and I couldn't see you."

Becoming alarmed he watched Jen's lower lip tremble, and an expression of sadness cross her face. Blue eyes turned watery and Johnny knew this wasn't playacting. Unexpectedly, her arms came around him in a fierce hug throwing him off balance. He landed awkwardly on the deck. Her towel slipped and her wet bathing suit connected with his dry uniform.

"Whoa." Johnny hastily sat up with Jennifer still clinging to him.

Jennifer—" Roy, about to reprimand his daughter let the words die on his lips as he heard her heartfelt plea.

"I love you Uncle Johnny. You can't ever move away!"

Her genuine distress left Johnny feeling momentarily flustered.. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he looked to her father who appeared just as confused.

Mindless of Jen's wet suit Johnny gave her hug back. Gently setting her on her feet he wrapped the towel around her. "What's this?" He tenderly brushed away her tears with his thumb, telling her, "I love you too sunshine. Don't you worry I'm not planning on moving anywhere."

She looked at him trustingly her blue eyes shimmering. "You promise?

"Yep."

Her mood changed in an instant. He witnessed the return of her smile, and she hugged him one more time.

"Jen are you coming back?" One of her friends called out.

"I'm coming."

"Be safe Uncle Johnny." She scampered down the steps. Throwing off her towel, she joined her friend under the sprinkler.

"I'm sorry about that," Roy apologized for his daughter. "I don't know what came over her."

"It's all right." Johnny rose to his feet brushing the dirt from his uniform. Eyeing the wet patches he told his partner, "she sounded like a little version of Joanne just now."

The grill master shrugged handing over a burger. "Jen hears the words spoken often enough."

"I guess." Taking a bite of his tasty meal Johnny complimented the chef, casually surveying the crowd. "Where are the guys?"

"Marco is here somewhere," the host answered. "Neither Chet, nor Mike could make it. Emily Stanley is here. She told us Cap would drop by later. He's doing something with his kids."

"I don't see the Browns. Have they arrived yet?"

"Over there." Roy inclined his head in a westward direction both his hands occupied in the art of flipping burgers and moving hot dogs. "They're talking with Steve's family."

"Steve Menendez? From 95?"

Roy nodded. The smoke from the grill blew in his direction. He stepped back to avoid it.

"Huh," Johnny grunted. "How's Ryan getting on with Chris?"

"Both give the impression of liking one another. Ryan's a nice kid."

"Where did they disappear too? I wanna say hello before we get called out."

"They should be in Chris's room."

Johnny continued munching on his burger as he made his way inside. When he neared the kitchen, he heard Joanne, Emily Stanley, and Marco's mother chatting. All three greeted him warmly.

"Johnny you need to eat more," Mama Lopez said giving him a warm hug.

Johnny, wearing his most engaging smile, held up his nearly devoured burger and returned the affection. He whispered something in her ear, which caused a blush to stain her cheeks and earned him a whispered reply in Spanish.

"Who me?" The paramedic replied innocently.

"Yes you."

Watching the pleasant exchange between the two, Joanne smiled fondly, saying to Emily, "Oh, there he goes. He's laying on the charm."

Busy spooning potato salad into a serving bowl Marco's mother enlightened them, "I just told him he has the honeyed tongue."

Both women immediately nodded in understanding. If one thing remained constant about their friend, it was his _honeyed tongue_.

Polishing off a glass of milk Joanne poured for him he made small talk for a moment more, before excusing himself. When he came to Chris's bedroom, the door was slightly ajar. He knocked. Both boys looked toward the sound. He could see they'd been going through Chris's collection of comic books.

"Hi Uncle Johnny," Chris greeted. "Sorry you had to work."

"Hello Mr. Gage," Ryan said formally.

"How's it going boys?"

"Okay," said Chris.

Ryan didn't comment, but his head lowered.

_Oh boy._

"Chris would ya give us a minute?"

"Sure Uncle Johnny. I'll be out back." Chris left the room not sure what was going on.

"What's up sport?" Johnny asked.

When Ryan continued to hang his head, Johnny tried again. "How are things going at your aunt and uncles house?"

The words were barely audible. "They've been great but my mom is really upset with me."

Johnny sat on the bed. "Why is she upset with you? Did you see her today?"

The boy's hands stiffened at his sides. "I saw her this morning. She's visiting Dad at MCJ." A pained expression entered his eyes. "She's angry because Aunt Linda wouldn't visit her brother. She wanted Aunt Linda to take me there. I told mom I didn't want to go. Mom says I gotta get over my anger and forgive my dad."

He'd known where Clayton ended up. The Men's Central Jail was the largest jail in Los Angeles and inmates had access to telephones and writing materials.

"Has your Dad tried to contact you?" Johnny asked knowing the answer already.

"He's tried. I don't want nuthin' to do with him," Ryan said crossly. "He gets mad because I won't come to the phone. He writes me letters too. I won't read them or write back."

Inwardly Johnny sighed. Ryan newly recovered from injuries sustained in the car accident that sent his father to prison, had duel feelings of remorse and anger. "I know this isn't easy for you, He began, "It—"

"Why can't someone like you be my Dad?" The eleven-year-old blurted.

Taken by surprise Johnny explained, "Ryan, we don't get to choose who our fathers will be."

As soon as he spoke the words, an echo of his past surfaced. "_Oh Firefly," Shannon reasoned. "I understand your anger, but staying angry hurts you, and will change nothing. It isn't like we get to choose who our parents will be"_

Squashing the memory, Johnny noted tension caused the boy's hands to clench and unclench into fists.

"I don't like the dad I got." He spat vehemently.

Silently the paramedic agreed. "Your Dad has a problem. I hope he will get the help he needs. You have people who love you. Don't forget that."

For an instant, Ryan's eyes displayed a youthful optimism only to disappear with his next words. "It won't get better. My dad already had a chance and didn't take it."

"Uncle Johnny?" Chris returned standing in the doorway. "Mr. Cooper says you were called on a run."

"Thanks Chris. Ryan I have to go but I'll see you on Friday."

The boy said without much enthusiasm, "Sure Johnny."

"Bye champ," he said ruffling Chris' hair.

The Men's County Jail was a noisy place as Rodger sat behind the special glass window with a telephone in his hands. Because it was a holiday and so crowded, many of the inmates had to use this kind of communication today, instead of being face to face.

"Sorry it took so long to get here, you'd think on a holiday the traffic wouldn't be bad."

"Thanks for keeping an eye on things while I'm locked up in here," Rodger said.

""No problem, Rodger."

"So my boy's gonna be hanging out with the damn fireman is he? I lost custody of my kid because _Mr. Fireman _wrote a convincing deposition. I heard some of it read in court. Margery told me it was the personal letter that clinched it."

"Once a week he'll be seeing Ryan. Your sister thinks it's a good idea."

"My lovely caring sister and her husband couldn't care less I'm in here. They'll probably never visit, so I won't be seeing Ryan until I'm outta here."

"You okay with that?"

Rodgers hand gripped the telephone hard and his face twisted in anger. "Can't do much about it now, but once I'm free . . ."

Stretched out on his borrowed bunk, the weary paramedic hadn't been back at the station long. He listened to the soft breathing of Stan lying in the bunk next to him. The man managed to fall asleep within five minutes of hitting his bed. Unable to fall directly to sleep, being in another firehouse seemed to have this affect on him; Johnny reviewed the day's runs. Nine runs in total, four of them related to alcohol. The others were just as memorable. A 64-year-old man had a heart attack while biking; a hiker needed an airlift, a near drowning of a toddler in the family pool; a firecracker injury, the firecrackers the fourteen-year-old lit prematurely exploded, causing severe burns to his hands, arms, and face. Finally, a small child with a high fever rounded out the day. Approaching midnight, all he wanted to do was loose himself in sleep. The little rest he averaged his previous shift, combined with this active one, left him dog tired. Yawning, he placed his arm over his eyes.

Light and sound filled the room. "_Squad 116, man down. 17116 Saldee Drive. Cross Street East Kentucky Drive. One seven one one six Saldee Drive. Cross Street, East Kentucky Dr. Time out, 11:46."_

Groaning, Johnny rolled out of bed.

"I hope it isn't a passed out drunk," Stan complained sleepily. "We've had our share of those tonight."

"I hear that."

As they neared the residence and came onto East Kentucky Drive, the houses here were packed liked sardines in a can. Stan, cut the siren as a courtesy.

They turned onto Saldee Drive. The address dead-ended in a cul-de-sac. Stan frowned as they pulled up.

"It doesn't look like anybody's home," Johnny said.

"Let's see what we have first before we grab equipment."

Parking the vehicle, the paramedics headed for the darkened front door. As they neared, two smoldering streaks of light flew at them from the side of the house landing at their feet. The flickering brightness temporarily illuminated a small area of the lawn.

"Watch out!" Stan bellowed. Johnny felt himself pushed backward with enough force behind it to knock him off his feet. Stan nearly landed on top of him.

The hard landing left Johnny sucking in air. Double concussive booms shook the ground, within seconds of each other, not far from his position. He felt a rush of air and sudden pain in his ears. Dirt mixed with clumps of grass, pebbles, and small rocks, showered them both. His arms instinctively rose to protect his face, but not fast enough. Both men let out yelps as ground debris struck them.

Silence prevailed for a few seconds.

Stan looked at Johnny, "You okay?"

Sound reached his ears but muffled as if Stan were speaking to him through a closed door. 116's senior paramedic lurched to his feet speaking into the HT.

As Johnny watched, lights began popping on up and down the street. People started filing out of their homes. Some residents looked cross at being rousted out of their beds, but most were concerned for the two shell shocked paramedics. Nobody exited the house it remained dark.

His hearing began to return in a measured wave as minutes wore on. An almost painful ringing progressively dissipated but did not totally disappear. A swishing noise overshadowed the ringing, trailed closely by outside noises filtering in and everything becoming gradually louder.

Stan helped Johnny up. "Police should be here in a minute. I requested an address call back and it turned out to be a phony number. The house is unoccupied. "

A bit loudly, Johnny informed Stan, "Somebody's idea of a Fourth of July joke isn't so funny. I lost my hearing for a minute, but its coming back. I think I'm fine."

"I wouldn't say that," Stan mentioned as he pointed to Johnny's forehead and arm. "You're bleeding."

"So are you."

Let me take a look at you first," Stan said. "We can't leave until the local Leo's show up anyway."

When nothing more happened, and the police arrived, most residents reentered their homes, some complaining about punk kids playing games.

Stan reminded his fellow paramedic, "What I tell ya about this night being weird?"

Both patched up the other, but Stan, as mothering as Roy, had him in Rampart undergoing an exam. If the intermittent ringing he was experiencing in both ears didn't clear itself up with 12 hours, the on call doc told him, he needed to return.

Glad when the shift ended, Johnny wouldn't look on the Fourth of July in quite the same light again.

"John I heard about your little excitement on Sunday," Hank said. "You're lucky to have all your body parts."

Johnny still bore evidence from the incident. A butterfly bandage rested over a small cut near his left eye.

"The police said they found two M-80 wrappers nearby." Johnny shook his head. "They're actively looking into the case. Told us chances are they won't catch whoever did it unless someone turns them in."

"Hearing still being affected?"

"I am happy to report the cicadas have quit singing."

"I'm sure it's a relief," Hank said suppressing a smile at John statement. "Whatever happened to using sparklers, better yet, good old snap crackers."

"Guess it isn't exciting enough for 'em Cap. They graduated."

Hanks eyebrows arched. "Dangerously pal."

Hank heard the squad return. He continued filling out the latest report. The pile of paperwork on his desk never seemed to diminish. The engine's previous run had been a domestic stick of dynamite and required a descriptive accounting. It also caused Chet and Marco to become embroiled in a hot debate as they sat drinking coffee at the kitchen table. Mike purposely excused himself and sat on the day-room couch, reading the daily paper.

"I don't see what the big deal is Marco. Its four little words ya just say 'em."

"Chet," Marco argued, "it can be a big deal. Offering pardon takes a lot of emotional willpower. The words are worthless if you can't move forward."

Johnny and Roy entering the kitchen heard the end of Marco's statement.

"What are you two arguing about?" Johnny said, heading straight for the coffee maker in need of a jolt of caffeine. "It's a little early in the shift for this?"

Kelly and Lopez frequently engaged in debates, with Johnny enjoying the subject matter they hashed out.

Chet filled the unaware paramedic's in. "We're discussing the finer points of forgiveness."

"_Oh_," Johnny emphasized. The word had been floating around a lot lately.

"Don't let us stop you," Roy remarked, following Johnny's example and filling a cup with Java. Sometimes the war of words his shift-mates indulged in turned lively.

"Faith can play a part," Marco said and quoted, "bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Colossians 3:13

"That's great for those who believe Marco but not everyone follows a faith," the Irishmen countered. "What happens then?

Johnny resorted to leaning up against the counter listening.

"We're human, we reason out what's right and wrong. We have a duty to do what is right." Marco waited a moment to give Chet an opportunity to rebut, when he didn't he continued, "we have free will. The choices we pick will create either opportunities or consequences."

Chet pounced. "You would agree then, Marco, according to your earlier statements, your view is to forgive and forget?"

Marco shook his head emphatically. "Chet, forgiveness does not mean you grant a free pass or develop amnesia. It is not for the other person's sake you forgive, but your own; you break the connection and end the cycle of resentment."

"Roy what is your take on this subject." The Irishman zeroed in on his sandy haired shift-mate.

Roy glanced at Johnny who had grown quiet. His expression was impossible to read. This topic for him hit close to home. It was one thing to listen to the debate, another entirely to join in. Roy chose to bow out saying, "I have to decline. I know better than to involve myself in one of these discussions. What started this in the first place?"

"You're guys aren't gonna believe this." Marco accented voice animated as he began the tale. "We responded to a grass fire call only to find a roaring bonfire on the front lawn."

"You're kidding right?" Roy asked.

Chet took over the story shaking his head. ""We kid you not. The lady of the house had thrown out her husbands things. We're talkin' every stitch of clothing the man must have owned, books, magazines, gulf clubs, and even—picture it—a TV. She had doused the lot in gasoline, put a match to it, and _whoosh_."

"Are you serious?" Johnny asked his expression one of disbelief.

Mike chimed up from the dayroom couch, "As serious as a lawyer."

All eyes swiveled to the usually silent engineer. Seeing everyone's surprise, he felt his cheeks redden. He buried himself back in the paper.

After a moment, Marco picked up the story once again.

"Following the fire, we asked her why she did it. The husband of twenty years had an affair with a younger woman who happened to be her best friend, she said. She wouldn't forgive either of them and regretted one thing."

Intrigued despite himself, Roy asked, "What was that?"

Chet wrapped up the story. "The crazy dame regretted not being able to burn her friend's things too."

Johnny and Roy looked at each and shook their heads.

"Gage, you gonna weigh in on this conversation?" Chet openly challenged. "What do ya think?"

"It doesn't matter what I think. It isn't any of my business, and shouldn't be yours either."

This whole conversation had him remembering the phone call with Liz and the fact he hadn't attempted to do anything about it.

"C'mon, Gage, you always have an opinion. I thought since you—your father—"

Hank came into the kitchen. He allowed the conversation to run a natural course but now it needed a lid put on. His eyes darted to John before speaking.

"Last time I looked this was a _working_ fire station, gentlemen." His eyes rested solely on Chet. "The hose out back won't walk themselves up the tower."

Mike immediately put down his paper and headed into the bay.

Chet and Marco gulped down the rest of their coffee following Mike.

"Twits," Hank mumbled under his breath, starting back to his office.

Roy finished the last of his coffee and placed his cup in the sink.

"Johnny you know they didn't mean to—"

Stiffly he answered, "It's just a conversation, Roy."

"I—"

"Let it drop."

Hank heard the exchange and a frown formed. "Gage is there a problem?"

"No, sir. No problem." He answered formally, his jaw working.

Their superior's attention turned to his senior medic. "That so, DeSoto?"

"No problem Cap."

Hank eyed them both. "Let's keep it that way." Switching gears, "How did your run turn out?"

_The sunny brightness retreated under the onslaught of dark frothy clouds, pregnant with water. Thunder boomed. Lightening zigzagged across the sky. Halfway between the cemetery and the house John knew he wouldn't make it before natures fury let loose. No sooner had the thought completed the fourteen-year-old felt the first drop of water. A heavy wind driven rain soon followed. The rain fell in horizontal sheets, stinging his bare arms and legs. The temperature suddenly plummeted with the icy liquid, and his teeth chattered from the cold. The weather in late summer could turn on a dime. He was almost home. Another bolt of lightening cut the sky followed by a tremendous clap of thunder, which rattled his bones. Being in a forested area wasn't the smartest place to be in a thunderstorm. John hoped no trees came crashing down in front of him. Minutes later, he breathed much easier as he came to his back door. Resistance met his hand when he attempted to turn the doorknob. His father must be home and locked the door. John had purposely left it open having misplaced his key. He made his way around to the front of the house and saw his father's vehicle parked in the driveway. He tried the front door only to discover it locked as well. For just a moment, John contemplated staying outside, or heading for the Fosters but then reason intervened. He was both cold and wet. He couldn't stay outside in this weather._

"_Pop!" John knocked and called out. "The door is locked!" Somewhere in the distance, he heard the crash of a tree as it toppled._

_The door sprung open. Powerful arms dragged him inside. "Where is your head at? What the hell are you doing out in this weather?"_

"_S-Sorry," John hurriedly said. He couldn't stop his body from shaking, whether from fear or cold he wasn't sure._

_Watching water drip on the floor his father commanded, "Go change before you get sick." _

_John was surprised to find his father sober. These moments were rare and John took full advantage of it. When his father was sober, he could be nice. He quickly changed into dry clothes and returned to the kitchen, where his father placed a steaming cup of tea on the table. The bottle of Tennessee whiskey, along with a glass stood in the center of the table yet untouched. John gazed at it for only a moment before giving his attention to the mug in front of him._

"_Thanks Pop."_

"_I came home early to find you gone," his father told him. "I called over to the Fosters but no one had seen you today. Where were you?"_

_The teen debated on whether to tell the truth or offer up another reason. John decided on the truth._

_Picking up the mug and swallowing the hot liquid carefully he said, "After school I headed for the cemetery."_

"_I thought that's were you might be." Haunted eyes glazed over and shut._

"_I'm sorry I—"_

"_Don't apologize; I'm aware of how much you miss her, I can't do a damn thing about it, but I'm aware, all the time." He stopped speaking to draw in a ragged breath. "I can't escape her either; I see her in my dreams, this house, even this table." His calloused hands ran reverently over its surface. "She is everywhere." _

_Conversing with his father like this was even rarer then having him sober. He usually had nothing to say, or if he did, it was mean-spirited. It felt awkward and left John devoid of speech. What happened today to cause his father return to the house sober and truth seeking? Then it hit him and he almost dropped the tea mug on the table. The reason why he had gone to the cemetery in the first place, how could he be so dumb? _

_John senior impaled his son with a rock solid gaze so full of remorse and guilt it hurt to see it. John looked away. His parent turned and headed into the living room to pluck a picture off the mantle, a portrayal representing happier times. He came back with it and gently placed it upright on the table. John didn't look at the picture._

_The storm outside began to taper off, the thunder less frequent as it pulled away. Like the storm—John saw his father fade._

_The hope his father would remain sober shriveled as John senior reached for the bottle, ignoring the glass. He paused before drinking. "Did you wish your mother a happy birthday today?" His father's night had begun as the bottle touch his lips._

_The fourteen year old started to rise from the table. An arm snaked out to arrest his motion. "I'm sorry son—it's been two years and may as well be yesterday. Time hasn't lessened or blunted the wounds for either of us." _

_When John resumed his motion to leave, his father didn't stop him. He gave the picture a fleeting glance and froze. His mother held him in her arms as an infant. The love shining from her eyes as she gazed at him left him aching inside; the hollow numbness usually present fled in the wake of seeing the picture. Distressed he looked to his father who had switched to using his glass. Lifting blank eyes to his son John senior said nothing. The amber filled glass rose and descended._

_ John escaped to his room. _

_Around 8 p.m., hunger drove John into the kitchen. He hadn't eaten since early morning. His father was still at the table his head bobbing. Approaching, John attempted to pry the glass from his father's fingers to urge him to bed. Drunkenly his father demanded, "Leave…alone boy."_

_"Pops . . . why don't you go to bed?"_

_Lifting his head his father glared, his eyes blood shot and unfocused. "Get away." _

_John tried again. "Pop, let me help you to bed."_

_Angry now his father rose unsteadily and backhanded John who stumbled. The blow brought the sting of tears to his eyes. Before he had a chance to recover, he felt a hard grip on his arm and his father shaking him. Another blow struck his midsection driving the breath from his body. He felt sick to his stomach._

"_Stop," John wheezed. "I'll leave you alone."_

"Course . . . _will." His father grabbed him by the hair and forced him to the front door. He opened it and pushed John out into the night. His jean clad knees scraped the ground as he fell. He heard the lock turn and knew he wouldn't be getting back into the house tonight. He had not found his key. The night air was cold and he wrapped his arms around his lightly glad body for a moment before rising. He headed for the car. He opened the car door and sat in the back seat, shaking already._

_ It would be a long night. _

_As night gave way to a peaceful dawn, an icy bitterness settled in the region of John's heart. Bitterness not caused by natures hand, but by the cruel hand of fate and a father's abuse._

"Johnny?" Marco called.

Opening his eyes Johnny replied, "Yeah, Marco?"

Ever since the incident on the hose tower Johnny kept his nighttime musings to lower ground. He had taken to sitting in the rig by himself.

"Would you mind some company?" Marco asked.

Johnny moved into the adjoining seat so Marco could climb up.

"You pick interesting places to be alone _amigo,_" Marco commented settling himself into the seat.

"Everyone is much happier with this arrangement versus the tower."

"You have a point," Marco agreed getting to the matter at hand. "I'm sorry about earlier today. Chet and I didn't mean to upset you."

"Actually, Marco, you didn't. Having debates is something I enjoy listening too. I'm not upset. Besides, I had a conversation about this not too long ago."

Johnny could see the relief on Marco's face. He felt bad that his friend was feeling guilty over something as simple as a conversation. These last couple of months everyone went out of their way to avoid upsetting him. He felt as if he should be the one apologizing.

Speaking slowly, Marco said, "Johnny there is a Spanish proverb I like to use, _En la union está la fuerza_. It means, _in union, there is strength_. My friend I am available to you should you need anything."

Marco hopped down and was gone before Johnny could comment.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with 'em._

Forgiveness Factor

Written by: Kianda

Chapter Three

"Would you come to one of my playoff games?" Ryan asked.

The last weekend of July was a hot one. The unusually warm temperature hovered close to 90. The month of August would bring little league playoffs, and the boy and his mentor were currently engaged in a game of catch.

"I won't know for sure until I see your schedule," Johnny said, "but even if I'm working I can drop by for a little while." He lobbed the ball toward Ryan, watching it disappear inside the leathery mitt.

Eagerly, Ryan returned the throw with a bit more strength then Johnny had demonstrated. "I'm playing left field."

"Is that right? Well maybe I should be throwing the ball harder," Johnny teased.

Some thirty-minutes later Ryan called, it quits. Wiping the sweat from his forehead he said, "I think Aunt Linda fixed Lemonade for us."

When he walked into the quiet house, Johnny asked. "Where did everyone go?"

"My cousin Will is at a soccer game, and my cousin Stephanie is babysitting for our next door neighbor."

After pouring the lemonade Ryan and Johnny sat at the kitchen table.

Taking a large swallow from his glass, Ryan said, "once playoffs are over, we're going to the Grand Canyon." He placed his near-empty glass on the table. "Uncle Kev thinks it's a good idea to go before school starts again. I feel bad for Aunt Linda—she's been upset lately."

This was news to Johnny. "Oh?"

"Yeah, Dad won't stop bugging her. He calls her because he wants me to visit. Mom complains too. Social services said I could visit if I want. I don't." His look of defiance stood out.

The fact that Rodger wanted Ryan to visit was hardly unexpected the boy was his son. However, Johnny understood men like Rodger. The man did not want Ryan to visit out of a sense of remorse over what he did, or simple because he missed his son. No, powerless in prison Rodger needed someone to control.

Ryan's memory of the car accident requiring him to undergo emergency surgery was hazy, but he heard the story retold, and knew his father had been drunk at the time of the accident. This is what sent his father to prison. The boy wore a look of defiance, a clear sign he wasn't ready to deal with his father. Johnny steered the conversation back to the Brown's upcoming trip.

"I've been to the Grand Canyon . . ."

— — —

"Linda told me to stop calling her, or she would see to it my phone privileges are yanked.

"Her threat isn't an idle one Rodger, be careful."

"I'm not worried. Linda may threaten, but her bravado is only for show."

"In a couple of weeks they'll be heading to the Grand Canyon."

Rodger gave his visitor a rakish stare. "Does Margery or Linda know you visit?"

"No," his caller insisted, eyes narrowing. "If you want me to continue coming here you'll keep it that way. Let me give you some advice. Tow the line. Convince certain people you're willing to change. Life will be much easier for you, and earn you privileges. You're out of here in December—"

Displaying a bored look Rodger interrupted, "yeah, yeah, whatever. I want to see my son."

"He doesn't want to see you. His anger at you is still as potent as ever. Considering what's he's been through, he's doing remarkable well. Living with your sister's family agrees with him." The speaker stopped talking a moment to look around the visitor's room. It was full of people, some of them children, not much older than Ryan was. Their faces told the sad story. If Rodger had kept off the sauce, he wouldn't be here now. "Kevin is good for Ryan, but the bond between Ryan and Gage is different somehow. Spending time with the fireman has helped him. Maybe you should be grateful instead of resentful."

Wearing a look of disgust Rodger spat, "easy for you to say, you're not in this rat-hole. The fireman is the reason I lost custody of my son! I'm not gonna pretend to be happy my boy is spending time with him."

"No, Rodger, he isn't responsible. You are. If you truly love your son, you would want what's best for him."

"Damn you! Whose side are you on?" Rodger's voice rose in anger. A guard looked their way.

"Lower your voice or they will end your session."

Rodger leveled an icy stare at his visitor from across the table. The guard looked elsewhere.

"To answer your question, if push comes to shove, I'm on Ryan's side. Oh, don't give me that look. You can't bully me Rodger as you do Margery, you never could. Since I don't see people beating down the doors of the prison to visit you, I may be the last friend you have."

"Spare me, Max." Rodger said.

Becoming annoyed Max said, "I'm aware of what you had someone do on the Fourth of July."

This got Rodger's full attention. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play coy with me," Max's voice lowered. "It was on the news about a certain prank pulled on a couple of paramedics, a certain paramedic who—"

Rodger smirked. "I didn't have anything to do with that Max."

"I really want to help you, but do something stupid like it again and you won't see me."

Completely ignoring his adviser's lecture, Rodger said impatiently, "If you really want to help then get my son to visit."

— — —

Sunday afternoon, Johnny took the DeSoto children to the bowling alley. He had spent little time with them these past couple of weeks. Since he had a long weekend off, and when Roy mentioned he wanted to see the movie, Cannonball, before it left the theaters, Johnny volunteered to entertain the kids.

"Thanks Johnny for doing this."

"I enjoy having them Roy."

"Yeah, but you could be doing other things. The Seattle, 49er's pre game is on the radio. What about Olivia, I thought you two hit it off?"

"I dig her Roy, but we haven't been able to get our schedules straight. She's attending night classes, and the new semester started. With her full time work load, and my schedule, it's been hit and miss."

"Oh." Turning his attention away from Johnny, Roy gave his kids the—_behave for Johnny_ l_ecture_—and left.

"Uncle Johnny?" Chris asked. "Why does my dad always worry about you, and who you date?"

Johnny's chuckle turned to laughter when Jennifer said, "Jeeze silly, I heard them talkin' They say Uncle Johnny needs a wife." She looked at him. "Do you want a wife Uncle Johnny? I'll marry you?"

"Jen, you can't marry Uncle Johnny." Chris said sounding amused.

"How come? I love Uncle Johnny. Mommy says you hafta love somebody in order to get married." She stuck her tongue out at him.

Diffusing a potential sibling argument Johnny smoothly said, "I haven't thought about getting married pigeon."

Johnny smirked at the thought of Roy explaining his kid's remarks.

A pleasant few hours later, after bowling three games, and buying the kids burgers and shakes, Johnny drove them home.

They were pulling into the DeSoto driveway when Jennifer asked, "Is Lisa ever gonna visit you Uncle Johnny? S_eeing _each other would be way cool. Anyway she's been sad."

Sad, how?" His hands tensed on the steering wheel. "Has Lisa said something to you?"

"No, just her daddy isn't as fun as he used to be."

As soon as the vehicle came to a standstill, Jen hopped out and waited for Johnny to do the same. "So, Uncle Johnny, can she visit?"

"I'm not sure peanut, maybe over Christmas."

Jennifer bubbled, "Oh boy, I hope she can."

Chris shook his head watching his sister run off toward the house. "Why does she hafta be so bouncy all the time?"

"She enthusiastic," Johnny answered him.

"She's annoying," Chris countered with feeling.

Walking up the driveway Chris mentioned, "Mom said she'd take Jen and me to the beach on Wednesday. We can bring a friend. I asked if Ryan could come."

"Oh yeah? Have you two been hanging out much?"

"No, but Ryan's cool to hang out with. He isn't bossy like some of my other friends."

"It's good you two are friends. Ryan needs someone around his own age he can talk with. It hasn't been easy for him Chris."

Chris liked talking with Johnny because he never spoke down to him, or acted as if he was too young to understand. Chris was aware Ryan's father was in jail because Ryan told him at the Fourth of July barbecue.

"Ryan did tell me the other kids think he's nuts, on account of what happened at his school. Some of his friends stopped hanging out with him. They make fun of him. I know he's not happy about school starting." Chris fell into silence, and then said, "It makes me feel lucky I have a dad who isn't mean to us."

— — —

That evening, as Johnny relaxed in front of the television, his doorbell rang. He couldn't keep the surprise from his face when he saw Margery Clayton at his door. He hadn't seen Margery since the night of Ryan's surgery.

"Mrs. Clayton? What brings you here?"

The women answered, "I'd like a word with you, if I May?"

Curious as to what Margery could possibly want, he invited her in. After seating her on the couch, and offering her something to drink, Johnny waited for her to explain why she came.

Nervously she began, "Social Services, and Ryan, tell me your visits with my son have been good for him."

"Is there a problem?"

"Oh no, Mr. Gage, not at all. With Rodger away I'm glad to see Ryan has taken a liking to you."

Johnny frowned. Margery made it sound as if her husband was on an extended business trip, instead of in prison.

"Mrs. Clayton, is there something I can help you with?"

Indecision cleared from her eyes as she stated her business, "Rodger would like to see his son, but Ryan refuses to go. He is very angry with his father right now. I can't get him to let go of his anger."

Johnny had a good look at Margery. She reminded him of the countless women he grew up seeing on the reservation. Both physically and emotionally worn, this woman endured years of suffering. He heard the subtle question.

"If you are asking me to convince Ryan to visit his father I won't do it Mrs. Clayton. Ryan must come to terms with his anger in his own time. Forcing him to see his father before he's ready will cause further emotional harm."

"Rodger is angry his son won't see him. Ryan refuses to speak with him over the phone. This is an impossible situation." Her chin trembled and tears began to drip from her eyes making him feel awkward. He handed Margery a box of tissues. She sniffled, pulling a tissue from the box. "Thank you," she mumbled. Instead of wiping her eyes, she turned the tissue nervously in her hands.

"I don't see—"

"The separation from my son is extremely difficult. I miss him every moment of every day." Her eyes slid closed and tears seeped from under her lids. Her voice quivered, "The nights—God the awful nights—are much worse Mr. Gage then anything you can imagine." She opened unfocused eyes. "I go into his room and sit for hours, staring at his bed, picturing him sleeping. All I want is to be able to kiss my boy goodnight." She bowed her head, her body shaking with grief.

Feeling vulnerable in the wake of such misery, but completely understanding the torrent of emotions, Johnny sat next to Margery and absently patted her arm. She jumped at his touch and fought for control.

"I know Ryan is better off living with his aunt and uncle for now." Dabbing at her eyes still leaking tears she added, "I haven't the means to take proper care of him, and the only immediate family I have left is a brother—we are not close. The courts say I should—"Abruptly she changed her mind about disclosing the information she would impart. Instead she said, "Ryan has become attached to you—trusts you. I was hoping you could—if you would maybe—" She swiped her cheeks with the tissue, and her voice lowered, "I love my husband despite his faults, Mr. Gage, and while he isn't an easy man to live with—he isn't the monster some claim he is. He wants to see his son. It isn't so much to ask."

Johnny noticed Margery hadn't once looked at him during her halting dialog. This kind of reaction wasn't uncommon for woman caught in Margery's situation. Her own mind altered the truth. She did not see Rodger like the outside world saw him, a spiteful man, prone to anger and violence. The fear and loyalty, shame, and total dependence on him for economic support, all contributed to her inability to step away to see the clear picture.

Margery coped with her reality by making excuses.

Johnny felt empathy for the woman but he spoke candidly, "Mrs. Clayton, I 'm sorry for what has befallen you, and the circumstances you find yourself in. Ryan's father will need to rebuild the trust he has taken away, but he will have to do it on Ryan's timetable. As you say, Ryan does trust me. I won't betray his trust by manipulating him."

Rising from the sofa and dabbing her eyes Margery said, "I'm sorry if I disturbed you're evening Mr. Gage, please forgive me."

"Mrs. Clayton—Margery," Johnny began worried as a blank look appeared on her face. "Can I see ya home?"

"No, thank you. I drove myself."

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Jadedly she raised wounded eyes to his. "Unless you are a magician and can turn the clock back Mr. Gage, then no, there is nothing you can do for me."

He watched her walk toward the elevator. Her stooped posture, and slow measured gait confirmation of a woman old before her time.

— — —

As Johnny once again relaxed on the couch, he thought of Lisa. He hadn't heard from her in a while, and he decided to call her.

She answered on the first ring.

"Hey little lady.

"Hi Johnny."

"What have you been doing lately?"

Mr. Foster is teaching me to jump, Kelsey. He thinks I'm a natural, whatever that means."

A smile crossed his face. "It means," Johnny, told her, "Mr. Foster thinks you are good at it. When did you start jumping your horse?" Lisa hadn't mentioned this before.

"Only a couple of weeks."

They talked about horses for a few minutes. A cheerless tone entered her voice, "Daddy hasn't seen me jump Kelsey."

"Why not? He asked. Maybe this would explain his sister's unhappiness.

"He won't leave the house. He told Mommy and me he doesn't need to go anywhere, and he sleeps a lot. He hasn't gone to the doctor, and Mommy is upset about it. He doesn't smile anymore. I miss Daddy."

His stomach did a little twist. He had his answer. It sounded as if his father's depression deepened, since he had his talk with Liz.

"Let me speak with him."

In a hushed voice Lisa said, "no, Johnny, I don't want to wake him up cuz he's grouchy." He heard the slight tremor in her voice and it pulled at him.

He decided not to pursue it. "Aright, tell your mother I would like to speak with her. She can call me at the station or I'll call her."

"Okay.

They talked for a few more minutes. "It'll be all right Lisa. We'll talk soon."

Bye Johnny."

— — —

The next morning the squad responded to Topanga Canyon to cover squad 69s service area. A wild fire had broken out in the Topanga State Park. Station 69 responded along with other engine companies, to the area. Johnny didn't get a chance to speak with Liz until several days later.

"Gage, phone call." Marco said.

The paramedics were in the middle of cleaning the squad. Apologetically he looked at Roy, handed him his soapy sponge, and dried his hands with a towel. "I'm expecting a phone call from Liz," he said. "I'll make it quick."

He picked up the phone in the dorm. "Liz?"

"Hi John," his stepmother said. "You're a tough one to get a hold of. Captain Stanley told me the squad had been sent to Topanga and only recently returned."

"I meant to call you yesterday afternoon. I can't speak long." Johnny jumped straight to the point. "Lisa tells me Dad doesn't leave the house?"

"Pretty much sums it up."

"Who's been taking Lisa to her riding lessons?"

"I do, or Rebecca."

"I assume you've tried talking to him?"

Impatience sharpened her tone. "Of course I have. I don't know what else I can say to you both. You are made from the same cloth." Liz hearing his indrawn breath realized how petty her words sounded. "John I'm sorry. I should not have said that. You are not like—you have every reason—listen; your father is a grown man who will make his own decisions. If he chooses to ignore his condition, there is little I can do. Nagging, or getting angry will only exacerbate the problem. Lisa already senses something is wrong."

When silence filled the space, she said irritably, "What am I supposed to do?"

Johnny had no anger for his stepmother. "Liz, I'm the last person ya need to justify your actions to." His words hung in the air.

"I've requested time off," she informed him, her voice firm. "In a couple of weeks Lisa and I are heading to Colorado. I have family in Denver. We'll be staying a week."

Liz did not strike him as the type to run from a problem so if she felt the need to leave, things were very tense. Sensitive to the fact he bore some responsibility for this break down between Liz and his father, Johnny attempted to apologize. "I'm sorry this has happened Liz, I —"

She didn't let him finish. "Johnny one way or the other this situation must be resolved. Lisa is confused over her father's abrupt change in attitude. I see early signs of stress in her." His stepmother went on to explain, "What should be a private matter between the two of you involves us all. John's angina attacks are more intense, yet he refuses to see Dr. Logan. He is reverting to the man I knew early on. The hard, silent and moody man."

Things were far worse than he imagined them to be. "Are you afraid he will start drinking again?"

His jaw clenched, when he heard her honest response. "I hope to God not. Still, the possibility exists. I've alerted his sponsor. John hasn't been attending AA meetings. I won't kid myself. We both know how this works. He will either drink or he won't, but the consequences are grave should he fall off the wagon."

Liz I will t—"

The Klaxons sounded, _"Station 51, Engine 116, structure fire, 175 Fulton Ave., 1.7.5. Fulton Ave., cross street, Haven time out 14:52_.

Frustration laced his voice, "I've gotta hang up."

— — —

The phone call to his sister, the phone call from his stepmother, and this latest run, had Johnny at a psychological low.

Roy pulled the squad out of the hospital ambulance bay, giving his dejected partner a sideways glance.

The junior paramedic keyed the microphone "LA squad 51 returning to quarters."

"Squad 51."

"Johnny . . ."

In desperate need of a shower, his clothes reeking of smoke, Johnny turned toward the side window, tuning out his partner's voice. He rubbed his aching forehead. Mentally he pictured the run.

Arriving on scene, smoke and flame erupted out the first floor windows. The hysterical mother, clutching a screaming infant, informed them her nine-year-old twin girls along with her husband were still upstairs. Engine 116 dispatched at the same time hadn't arrived yet.

"LA, Engine 51. We have a working fire at this location and victims trapped on the second floor, dispatch additional engine."

Immediately tones resonated over Big Red's radio._ "Engine 36, assist Station 51 at their incident, structure fire, with victims trapped . . ."  
_

Hank addressed his paramedics. "We've no first floor access. Take an extension ladder, C side of the house—Kelly, Lopez grab two—one inch and a-halves and using a wide dispersal stream, see if we can't knock this down."

As he spoke, the windows on the left side of the second floor shattered outward from the heat, flames curling though, and snapping at the roof-line.

The woman screamed. "Oh my god Help them!"

Securing the ladder and setting it up against the window at the right side of the house, both paramedics heard the siren of 116 making its approach.

Climbing the ladder to the top, Roy warned his partner who stood one-rung lower, "Watch yourself Johnny."

Smashing the window, Roy slid his gloved hand in, and unlatched it. Smoke billowed forth, as both firefighters crawled through the open window.

They immediately spotted the unconscious form of one of the twins lying in her bed. Her father lay in the doorway where he had collapsed. They did not find the other child in the room.

"I have her," Roy said peeling back the covers and checking for a pulse. "She's not breathing." He scooped her up and began rescue breathing carrying her toward the open window, watching for signs of spontaneous breathing. He hesitated for a fraction of a second at the window. His heart pounded. He hated moments like this, he was about to leave his partner unaided to search alone. It could not always be two in, two out.

Giving the unconscious man a shot of oxygen, from his mask, Johnny hoisted his victim in a fireman's carry heading for the open window after Roy.

Engine 116 was on scene.

Captain Stanley climbed up the ladder as soon as Roy was down. Johnny transferred his victim unto the sturdy shoulders of his captain.

"The girls separated Cap," Johnny said loudly. "I'll need to make a sweep of the other bedroom."

Hank cautioned his paramedic starting down the ladder, "You have two minutes no more; fire is almost to this location."

The floor plan of the home had the master bedroom, and the second and third bedrooms, separated from each other by an interior hallway bathroom. Heavy smoke filled the area distorting his view. Crouching, Johnny allowed his instincts to guide him as he felt his way down the short darkened hall. Adrenaline surged through him knowing if he didn't find the girl now, it was over. The master bedroom was in flames and if she ran into the room . . . the home fire alarm continuously piercing the background since he entered, suddenly ceased. _Not good._

He reached the second bedroom to find the door open. He entered amid the hazy smoke. A baby crib stood alone in the middle of the room, a mobile of stars and moons overhanging the edge. A rocking chair and a child's dresser joined the crib in decorating the room. A feeling of failure rushed him when he did not see the little girl. He went to the closet and she wasn't there. He reentered the hallway and closed the door, heading for the bathroom. Relief hit him at the same time his stomach dropped out. The little girl lay in a fetal position in the bottom of the bathtub. He carefully lifted the limp form into his arms, his chest tightening as he observed her pallor. She had a pulse, but barely breathing. Taking his mask, he placed it over the girls face willing her to take in the life giving oxygen. He stepped out of the bathroom. The roiling grayness banked in the hallway creating a layer of smoke and heat. It reminded him of the thick fog which could settle over the interstate in June. Without the safeguard of either facemask or oxygen, the duel companions of fire made his eyes water, and lungs burn.

Coughing, he shouted into the HT, "Cap I've located the girl." He brought the mask up to his own face, and inhaled deeply before applying it once more to the girl's face. The smoldering walls told him any moment the fire would break through. As if sensing his thoughts, with an ominous whoosh, the ravenous living thing began devouring the wall slightly ahead and to the left of him. In seconds, a scotched, blackened line streaked across the wall and up the ceiling. Hot cinders from the ceiling were falling in lazy fashion to adhere too, and ignite, whatever they met. Not satisfied with the amount of structure it consumed, the lethal flames jumped to the opposite wall effectively cutting off his escape route. With fire ahead and behind him, he found himself trapped between rooms. The hallway bathroom offered no window. For a split second, he pictured his sister's face, and then it was gone.

Caps voice came over the HT. "John get outta there!"

The yellow-orange flames radiating heat also released toxic fumes, Johnny's lungs protested the foul air and he began hacking steadily. Sweat ran into his eyes. Dizzy, he strained to see in the murky light. Just as his mind reasoned he had no choice but to pass through the barrier of flame, the sweet sound of water taming the crackling-hissing beast, couldn't be timelier. Unable to withstand the watery assault the flames died down, offering safe passage.

After receiving oxygen, the father would recover. The prognosis for the twins, on the other hand, was up in the air. Severe smoke inhalation comprised their lungs . . . sending them to the pediatric ICU ward at Rampart.

"Johnny did you hear a word of what I said?"

The paramedic found they were almost to the station.

Roy attempted to draw out the distant man sitting beside him. "You did everything you could in the given situation."

Silence prevailed.

"They have a fighting chance."

His friend chose to stay silent not even glancing his way. The senior man drove without speaking again. At times like this, Roy just wanted to hug his children.

Back at the station, once showered and feeling slightly better, although every once in a while a strong coughing spell would affect him, Johnny entered the kitchen to grab a glass of water. The engine wasn't back yet. Mop up of the scene would keep them awhile.

"Johnny," Roy said, setting a sandwich on the table. "I was hungry thought and I thought you might like one too."

"Nah, Roy, I couldn't eat anything right now."

"Are you all right?" Johnny had received oxygen at the scene and Roy had cleared him. Now though, the strained pinched expression, the red irritated eyes, and overall unwell-appearance struck him with concern.

Rubbing his temples he told his partner, "I've got a mean headache."

'I have a bottle of aspirin in my locker if you need it."

— — —

The engine returned forty minutes later. Chet and Marco headed directly for the showers. Mike, who had not parked the engine inside the bay, held the reel line in his hands preparing to hose her down.

Captain Stanley headed straight for the coffee maker.

"How are the twins?" Hank asked, spotting Roy in the kitchen.

The crestfallen look worn by his paramedic foreshadowed Roy's answer, "I wish I had better news, they were admitted to the pediatric ICU unit."

"That's rough," Hank said with feeling, his eyes searching, "Where's Gage?"

"He's in the dorm fighting off a smoke induced headache."

"Will be able to finish the shift?" Hank asked.

"I think so Cap."

"He did one helluva job getting the girl out. Our boy has nerves of steal."

Roy drank from his mug declining to comment.

— — —

Johnny lay on his bunk with one arm over his eyes. He heard his shift-mates return. He hoped the combination of rest and aspirin would ease his pounding head. He let himself drift.

_He sat on a hilltop overlooking the cemetery. The pattern of the gravestones a road map to the dead. Frogs croaked from the nearby pond, crickets sang hidden in the grass, birds chirped in the trees, and squirrels chattered. All around him, life sang its joyous song. His heart did not feel the Great Spirit's beauty. The shadow of his mother's death laid heavy his heart._

_Shannon sat next to him plucking the petals off a wildflower as she spoke, "You have such a sad look about you, John."_

_"I'm tired." Fifteen-year-old John answered, continuing to stare straight ahead._

_She gently told him, "You can't keep things from me, Firefly. I feel them here" she placed a hand over her heart. "No one who loved your mother has forgotten this day."_

_"Will it ever get easier when remembering her?" He said. " I know if she had lived my father—" He had almost blurted his secret._

_"What is it?" Shannon asked._

_"I'm tired." He repeated._

_"Then lay back and close your eyes."_

_"I'm not that kind of tired, Shan."_

_"What other kind of tired is—John what are you saying?" Alarmed now, Shannon grabbed his arm as if to force an answer._

_The intensity of her gaze had him looking away. "I'm tired of—" He stopped; he would not burden her with this. Instead, he asked her, "Do you believe the Great Spirit hears us when we speak? Hears our prayers?"_

_"Don't you?" Shannon turned the question back on him._

_"I'm not sure anymore."_

_Shannon trustingly leaned her head against his shoulder and spoke softly, "He may not answer us in the way we expect, but I believe He hears us when you pray. Don't stop believing, John."_

_Those simple words and her firm belief chased away the morose feeling he had been fighting all morning. A smile replaced his frown._

_"Will you do something for me?" When she lifted her head and his eyes met hers he knew at once, as only a close friend could, the request she would make._

_"Which one do you want to hear?"_

_"Tell me the story of Old Man and the Buffalo-Berries in honor of you're mother. You have the gift for storytelling, Firefly, just as she had. Your mother taught this one to me._

_"Then you should be the one to tell it." He protested._

_Shannon__ gave him a smile and shook her head. "I'm waiting."_

_The fifteen-year-old sat crossed legged and began to recite the tale._

"Old man was the one who started it, and our people have followed his example ever since. Ho! Old man made a fool of himself that day.

It was the time when buffalo-berries are red and ripe. All of the bushes along the rivers were loaded with them, and our people were about to gather what they needed, when Old man changed things, as far as the gathering was concerned.

He was traveling along a river, and hungry, as he always was. Standing on the bank of that river, he saw great clusters of red, ripe buffalo-berries in the water. They were larger than any berries he had ever seen, and he said:

"'I guess I will get those berries. They look fine, and I need them. Besides, some of the people will see them and get them, if I don't.'

He jumped into the water; looked for the berries; but they were not there. For a time Old man stood in the river and looked for the berries, but they were gone.

After a while, he climbed out on the bank again, and when the water got smooth once more, there were the berries - the same berries, in the same spot in the water, that is a funny thing. I wonder where they hid that time. I must have those berries!' he said to himself.

In he went again - splashing the water like a Grizzly Bear. He looked about him and the berries were gone again. The water was rippling about him, but there were no berries at all. He felt on the bottom of the river but they were not there.

"'Well,' he said, 'I will climb out and watch to see where they come from; then I shall grab them when I hit the water next time.'

He did that; but he couldn't tell where the berries came from. As soon as the water settled and became smooth - there were the berries - the same as before. Ho! - Old man was wild; he was angry, I tell you. And in he went flat on his stomach! He made an awful splash and mussed the water greatly; but there were no berries.

"'I know what I shall do. I will stay right here and wait for those berries; that is what I shall do' and he did.

He thought maybe somebody was looking at him and would laugh, so he glanced along the bank. And there, right over the water, he saw the same bunch of berries on some tall bushes. Don't you see? Old man saw the shadow of the berry- bunch; not the berries. He saw the red shadow-berries on the water; that was all, and he was such a fool he didn't know they were not real.

Well, now he was angry in truth. Now he was ready for war. He climbed out on the bank again and cut a club. Then he went at the buffalo-berry bushes and pounded them till all of the red berries fell upon the ground, till the branches were bare of berries.

"'There,' he said, 'that's what you get for making a fool of the man who made you. You shall be beaten every year as long as you live, to pay for what you have done; you and your children, too.'

"That is how it all came about, and that is why your mothers whip the buffalo- berry bushes and then pick the berries from the ground. Ho!"

_When he finished the two friends sat in a companionable silence for a time. Shannon was first to speak. "Are you ready to go?"_

"_Yeah, I am." Picking up the flowers that rested near him, both teenagers walked toward his mother's grave._

— — —

When he opened his eyes he knew what he had to do.

* * *

_Author note: The First People stories I use are not altered and come as is.  
_


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with em._

The Long Road Home

Written by: Kianda

Chapter Four

Please review!

* * *

Liz was correct—Lisa's life intertwined with his. He acknowledged his sense of responsibility towards his half-sister despite the years that separated them.

"Johnny."

"Hmm?"

"Can you clear us?" Roy said eying him quizzically.

They were heading back to the station after receiving needed medical supplies, and completing a number of fire inspections.

Controlling his wandering thoughts Johnny mumbled, "Sorry." He grabbed the microphone. "LA Squad 51 is available and returning to quarters."

"Squad 51."

Giving his partner a side-glance Roy asked, "What's on your mind?"

"A problem."

Roy challenged, "Do we play twenty questions, or are you going fill me in?"

His partner hesitated before answering the question, "My return to Montana caused complications for Liz and Lisa."

Alert now Roy said, "What kind of complications?" Johnny had yet to disclose details of his trip, so Roy hadn't a clue as to where this might lead.

"Liz tells me my father has closed himself off. He is refusing to leave the house. She feels his angina is becoming a major concern, and he hasn't been to see his physician."

"You are in no way responsible for this," said Roy adamantly. He shot a glance at his partner before returning his eyes to the road.

Johnny ran a finger back and forth across the passenger window frame. "There's more. Liz tells me Lisa is showing signs of stress."

"Johnny list—"

The man in the passenger seat waved his friend to silence. "I know what you are going to say, and I appreciate it, but this situation falls squarely on me."

Roy presented no opinion, hoping for an explanation. None came. "Johnny it would help if you filled me in on what's been happening."

Running his hands through his dark hair the man professed, "There's nothing to explain—I've come to a decision. I'm going to invite them here for Christmas." A charged silence filled the cab.

Roy's eyes narrowed "Are you sure about this? I mean—have you thought this through?" Johnny's opinions, and feelings could, and often did change, but Roy suspected not in this instance. One did not arbitrarily dismiss years of built up anger and resentment in just a couple of months. When Johnny first returned from Montana, he immediately suspected something had happened. Being Johnny, he hid it well. He shared information about his half-sister and his stepmother, where he went, who he visited, and even the weather, but nothing else—nothing of his father. He gave his friend another quick glance. "By extending an invitation you are suggesting a possible reconciliation with your father. Is this something you want?"

Johnny looked away. "It doesn't matter what I want. It isn't important."

By omission, Johnny answered his question. "How do you figure?" Roy's voice betrayed his concern. "Why do you think your feelings aren't important in this?"

"I'm the one who upset my sister's relationship with her father. I'm the one who needs to fix it, or would you suggest I walk away?"

The sober-minded answer and question stopped Roy cold. Johnny would follow his decision through to a conclusion, whether it played in his favor, or not. Roy could have aired a few thoughts on the subject, but he kept his opinions to himself. Keeping his answer generic he answered, "You'll do what you feel you have too."

______

The intention had been to talk with Liz and offer the invitation to visit. Instead, when Johnny placed the call the following morning, his father answered the phone. The extent of their dialogue usually consisted of a polite hello, and nothing more.

This morning proved different as his father informed him, "Lisa isn't here John." He couldn't help noticed the emotionless state of voice. "She slept at a friend's house and Liz has gone to pick her up. You'll have to call back later."

"I actually called for Liz; will ya let her know I called?"

"Is there something I can help you with?"

"No."

About to hang up he heard his father ask a bit awkwardly, "Have you been well?"

Johnny responded, "Yes and you?"

"I'm still here."

The words were out before Johnny could stop them, "You sound miserable."

"Do I? Well then, you could say I live one miserable day at a time."

Johnny could now see why Liz felt concern. "Why haven't you spoken with your sponsor or your doctor?"

"I'm not following you." The elder replied.

Direct as ever Johnny told him, "I know what's been happening. You need to talk to somebody. If you can't talk with Liz then get a hold of your sponsor—"

"I'm talking to you." His father interrupted. Without anger he added, "Admit it John—I can hear it in your voice, you think I'm having a pity-party, that I might down a bottle of Jack."

"It has crossed my mind. Then again, you could be playing the _woe is me_ card to garner sympathy. Have ya even given any thought as to how this is affecting Lisa?"

"She's fine, but your brotherly concern is admirable."

Disregarding the remark Johnny pressed, "She's confused by your mind-set; your moodiness scares her."

An uncomfortable silence from the other end had Johnny unable to contain his frustration. Wanting to hear some kind of a reaction other than the uninterested monotone, angry accusation pervaded his words. "No she isn't! Next time ya see her take a good look, listen to her carefully. You want me to take for granted you've changed, but this behavior has me believing some shadow of the old you is still around."

Regret tainted John's answer, "Of course you would think the worst of me, but I am gratified to note you care enough to notice."

Johnny's left hand unconsciously gripped the chair he was sitting in. "I care about Lisa, and what happens with her," He exhaled slowly his anger diminishing. "Something ya failed to understand. I didn't stop—caring—you did."

Instead of the anger he tried to stir up, Johnny heard his father's defeat deepen, "Son, what do I need to do—?"

Smoothly he pronounced, "For me? Nothing. I believe that time is long over." Johnny knew he sounded irritated, but didn't curb it. "I suggest you take a good hard look at what ya gained, and focus your energy there. Liz certainly should hold your respect. After all, she helped pick up the pieces and put you back together. She hasn't given up on you; by what right do you feel you can give up on yourself?"

Johnny finally heard his father's voice harden. "Boy you haven't walked in the darkness I have."

"No, I was in your line of fire while you did." Johnny heard his father sigh. He finished with, "Liz and Lisa deserve more from you plain and simple. I am open to talking, but the forgiveness you're looking for, like I already told you, isn't on your time-clock, it's on mine."

John senior heard the click as the line went dead.

­­_­____

The breeze rippled across Johnny's bare arms, gently tousled his hair, and playfully fanned his uniform shirt. As nature's furnace traveled its path toward the western horizon, it suffused his body in warmth. He sat on the hood of his rover enjoying the feel of both earthly elements. With his assigned duties completed, the paramedic found he wanted to be alone. As he sat with eyes closed trying to curb his inner voice, a long forgotten prayer surfaced unexpectedly, a prayer often recited when his mother was alive, but ended with her death. The year's in-between held no sway; the forgotten words flowed easily.

_"O' Great Spirit, Whose voice we hear in the winds, and whose breath gives life to all the world, hear us! _

_We are small and weak. We need your strength and wisdom. Let us walk in beauty, and make our eyes ever behold the red and purple sunset. Make our hands respect the things you have made and our ears sharp to hear your voice. Make us wise so that we may understand the things you have taught our people. Let us learn the lessons you have hidden in every leaf and rock. We seek strength, not to be greater than our brother, but to fight our greatest enemy— ourselves. Make us always ready to come to you with clean hands and straight eyes, so when life fades as the fading sunset, our spirits may come to you without shame."_

_Shannon__'s long ago advice echoed as the prayer faded,_ _"Don't stop believing Firefly." _

"Station 95, Rescue 5's flight ETA is five minutes."

Brown eyes opened. Reducing his mental chatter and sinking into his inner calm usually presented no problem. Seldom did the dispatcher's oral assault over the communication system distract him; today however, he found it rather intrusive.

Trying to block out the constant stream of noise coming from the PA system, Johnny pictured himself sitting at the shore of Lake McDonald, in Glacier National Park. A favorite place from his childhood, only an hour and a half out of Browning, it was well located. His mother had loved the lake. On occasion, they camped overnight; Johnny cherished these rare memories most of all. One of the places he visited while waiting for Lisa's school day to end had been the lake. He mentally attempted to picture the long body of water blocking out the external noises of the station, but instead, his mind took it one-step further and offered up a memory.

_John slipped from the tent careful not to disturb his parents. He walked to the lake's edge a few feet away from where they pitched the tent. He lifted his eyes to the massive blue-green mountains of the Great Divide. Dappled in shadows, and standing sentinel over the lake, their mighty peaks—cloaked in white—stretched toward the heavens. Shrouded in morning mist the smooth surface of the water occasionally rippled as hungry fish snared water bugs for their morning meal. Wisps of delicate vapor moving as if alive rose from the polished surface and dissipated. His eyes tracked a brown beaver as it scurried down to the water's edge and slipped in. He stood scanning the shoreline. Larger animals would often drink early in the morning, and he watched for a glimpse of a brown bear, or possibly a moose. _

"_You're up early," His mother said joining him at the water's edge carrying his jacket. "Even though the sun is shining it's chilly this morning." She held his jacket out for him._

_Taking the jacket John put it on. _

"_It is beautiful and tranquil in the first light," she said placing her arm around his shoulders. "Old Man is happy; we will have plenty of sunshine. What would you like to do? We have until two o'clock, and then we'll head home."_

"_Can we take the canoe out on the lake?" _

_Ruffling the top of his head his mother smiled. "I don't see why we couldn't. Let's collect some wood for our campfire, and then we'll wake up your father."_

"_No need," His father said stepping out of the tent, sporting a yawn, "Some inner sense told me you two were already up." _

"_How can one sleep with such beauty all around them?" His mother said indicating the view._

_Sliding his arms around her, John watched as his father playfully kissed his mother good morning_. _"How indeed,"_ _He said softly.  
_

The happy image dissolved, the dispatcher's voice reminding him where he was.

"Engine 65, you're coming in broken, repeat last transmission?"

"Squad 81, what is your status?"

"Squad 14 there is no call back number for that address."

"All engines responding with Station 116, cancel."

He slid to the ground, giving up. As made his way back into the station, a mouth-watering aroma led him to the kitchen. Captain Stanley was standing by the stove babysitting some creation he was cooking. Johnny's other shift-mates were busy elsewhere. A run had interrupted everyone's morning chores so Marco and Chet were still stretching hoses; Mike worked diligently to put a shine on the engine, and Roy was putting the final touches to the latrine.

While pouring himself a cup of coffee Johnny complimented, "Cap, whatever you're fixing' for dinner smells great." He carried his coffee to the table and sat down.

"Thanks John, this is one of Emily's recipes—Hungarian Goulash." Placing the lid on the pot and turning down the gas, Hank asked, "Is everything going well with you?"

"Cap?" Johnny questioned.

Replenishing his own cup with coffee, Hank joined his paramedic at the table. "I noticed you're tense."

Johnny decided he needed to learn how to wear a poker face. "I'm fine. It's family stuff."

"Can I be of help?" Hank inquired, drinking his coffee, eyeing John over the rim.

Johnny was going to decline when something urged him to say, "The night you came to my apartment you told me I had an opportunity to confront my past; my father still alive could explain himself. What you said afterward left me wondering."

Hank supplied, "I said some people never get a second chance."

Johnny nodded. "Were you generalizing, or speaking from experience."

Station 51's commander gave his junior paramedic a probing gaze before answering. "There is a story behind the statement. If—"

The klaxons sounded putting an end to the conversation; Johnny went to the stove and turned it off and Hank headed for the microphone.

"_Station 51, engine 110, fire alarm activation, Carson High School, 22328 Main St. Time out 12:28." _

Captain Stanley cool voice responded, "Station 51, KMG365."

Both squad and engine rolled out of the station, sirens sounding.

Chet whined from his backseat perch, "School's not even in session and we still get calls."

"At least it isn't far." Marco answered.

"I'll bet you five bucks we'll get the cancel call."

"You're on Chet," Marco challenged.

Hank overhearing the conversation hid a smile. Chet was probably right they did receive a high degree of cancel notifications. He turned in his seat so he could see his men. "You know betting while on duty is against departmental regulations gentlemen."

"Aw Cap, it's just a friendly little wager."

Hank raised his eyebrows and Chet said, "Gotcha Cap. Bet is off Marco, but I bet I'm right."

Hank turned back into his seat, and glanced at his chief engineer who was smiling.

"The kids will be starting school soon, and then the fun really begins," Marco reminded his disgruntled friend.

"There's at least one crazy call a year from that place." Chet agreed.

Mike said, looking into the rear view mirror, "We're passed the halfway mark Chet, coming up to Avalon."

Marco declared, "Hey Chet look's like you might have lost this one."

_Beep, beep, beep. "Station 51 and engine 110 cancel."_

"What I tell you?" Chet grumbled.

Mike killed the siren and eased his foot off the gas pedal.

"I could a scored an easy five bucks," Chet griped. "What a waste of time."

Smiles from both captain and engineer turned to wide-eyed disbelief, as a car veered into the middle of the intersection, leaving the squad little time or room to maneuver.

Hank breathed, "Holy…"

Hang on…." Mike shouted as the screech of tires ahead of them silenced the flow of words. He hit the breaks. The rig's tires burned against the pavement leaving heavy black skid marks in its wake.

______

"The station averages at least two or three calls a month to the high school, wouldn't ya say Roy?" Johnny asked, making a note on the call sheet, placing his pen back in his pocket. Both squad and engine pulled of the station, the squad leading the way.

Roy answered more loudly then normal due to the siren, "Yeah sounds about right."

Roy slowed the squad almost coming to a complete stop as they came to the intersection of Wilmington Street. Traffic had halted for the red light so he gingerly weaved through, picking up speed once they cleared the intersection. The horn sounded behind them from the engine at it too passed through.

Roy picked up the conversation, "At least I don't have kids who attend high school like Cap does. Imagine what crosses his mind every time we get a response out here when school's in session."

"Yah know Roy? I never gave it much thought before. I imagine it must be disquieting, having to respond, aware your children are in the building".

The discussion stalled until they passed through the intersection of Luceme St.

Once through Johnny commented, "In a couple of years Chris will be in high school."

"Don't remind me junior. I can't believe how quickly the kids are growing up."

"Why Roy, are ya feelin' your age?" Johnny teased. "Soon you'll be walking your little girl down the isle reminiscing about old times."

As they came to Bonita St, the light remained green. Cars had pulled over to the side to make room for both squad and engine.

Roy glanced his way. "I'm not going to dignify that with a response."

"Yeah, Roy, I can see you now," Johnny, said on a roll. "You, sitting in a rocking chair with a lap blanket covering your legs—your hair gray. Oh, and dangling from a chain around your neck those funny lookin' half-glasses for reading." Johnny voice switched to an exaggerated older voice, "I kin tell ya stories of when I was a paramedic for Los Angeles…"

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," Roy said smiling.

Johnny grinned back.

The call came over the radio, "_Station 51, and engine 110 cancel."_

The two friends looked at one another. Johnny's eyes alight with laughter. "I bet Chet is whining over this."

Roy reached to switch off the siren, as they headed into the intersection of Avalon Blvd.

Look out!" his passenger warned, arms reflexively rose to shield his face, as a car suddenly veered into their path.

"Hold on!" Roy mechanically cut the wheel sharply to the right applying the brakes to avoid a collision. Adrenaline flooded his system. The squad's tires screeched against the asphalt and locked sending the squad into a sharp spin. It whipped around to face in the opposite direction, coming to a jarring halt. Roy realized they were stopped, but far from safe. They were in the path of the oncoming engine with no time to move out of the way. He watched in horrid fascination as the red monster hunted them down. The faces of his family flashed before him and then he felt hands pushing him into the seat.

______

The rig's breaks locked. Everyone jerked forward. Hank threw his hands against the dashboard, wincing. Chet and Marco managed to keep their seat bracing themselves against the first thing they grabbed. The heavy-laden apparatus continued its forward momentum despite the application of brakes. The banshee wail of the tires as they burned across the pavement left little doubt as to what was happening. The odor of burning rubber filled the engine's cabin. Mike fought the steering wheel for control. Everything slowed down for the 51s engineer. He could see the squad avoided an accident with the car, but now it had turned into the path of the engine. _Oh my God! _His stomach twisted. Reacting, the traffic in the westbound lane slammed on breaks. He saw one of the cars plow into the back of the car in front of it. Maneuvering room non-existent, Mike closed his eyes, helpless to avoid what was coming. Moments later, Big Red came to a body-wrenching halt.

For the next couple of nerve shattering second's time stilled and nobody moved. Hank heard shouting from the street. Slowly he lifted his head to view the squad close enough to the engine to touch it. He couldn't believe they hadn't hit the squad. He looked into the cab. Both his paramedics were unharmed and exiting. Two cars, had suffered fender benders, their owners out of their vehicles and arguing. The car, which caused it all, had taken off.

Shaky he asked, "Stoker, Lopez, Kelly, you all okay?" he reached for the microphone. He looked his men over waiting for their responses.

Chet answered first, "Except for my rocky stomach, I'm fine Cap."

"I'm okay," Marco said, rotating his arm.

Massaging his neck Mike realized his hands were shaking. "We're alive."

Hank spoke into the microphone, "LA, Station 51 has been involved in a minor traffic incident at the intersection of E 223rd and Avalon Blvd. We have two motor vehicles involved in slight MVA. Out ten minutes."

"Engine 51, LA, do you require assistance?"

Hank realized he hadn't asked. "Affirmative LA. Police presence is requested."

"10-4 Engine 51."

Johnny and Roy had quickly checked on the occupants of the vehicles. There were no injuries, only short tempers.

"Is everyone okay in here?" Roy called anxiously from Mike's side of the rig. "Nobody is injured on the street Cap, just shaken up."

"Same in here." Mike assured his shift-mate.

"Not exactly," Hank mentioned. Mike looked toward Hank and for the first time noticed his pale appearance. "DeSoto, Stoker, clear the intersection. Gage?"

Roy headed for the squad. The junior paramedic climbed up and looked through the driver side window.

"Yes sir?"

Johnny witnessed a pained expression cross his commander's face when he indicated his right hand. "Soon as the rig is moved, grab a splint."

Slipping into his paramedic persona, Johnny soothed, "Let's get you outta here where I can get a better look. The hospital is only a few minutes away; we can take ya in the squad instead of waiting for an ambulance."

"Sounds good pal," Hank grimaced, once again reaching for the microphone.

Police arrived and within ten minutes, both the squad and engine headed for Rampart.

______

Stepping away from an illuminated set of x-rays on the display board in exam room three, Brackett confirmed, "It isn't broken Hank. It will feel stiff for a couple of days; you jammed it pretty hard." He singled to Dixie who stood nearby. "You can go ahead and wrap it Dix."

"From what I'm told it might have been much worse," Dixie said gently taking his injured limb, and wrapping it in an Ace Bandage."

"The hazards of riding inside a fire truck," Hank said stoically. "The car which caused it never even stopped."

"You can use the hand Hank," Brackett told him, "though try and avoid any strenuous lifting for a few days."

"You have some pretty restless firemen waiting out in the hall," Dixie said securing the clip in place.

Hank nodded, "I know. John wasn't too happy to be kicked out."

Brackett looked up from the pad he was writing in. "When it comes to any of you, he never is."

______

Seated around the table eating dinner that evening, Hank told his men, "I will need information for my report. Roy you'll have to write up your own."

"Cap," Mike explained, "I saw a vehicle enter the intersection. It ran the red light."

Hank's brow puckered. "Can you describe the car?"

Johnny slathering butter on a piece of bread answered for him, "A red two-door Pontiac Firebird, possibly a 69 model."

Giving Johnny an approving gaze, Mike agreed.

"Did you see the model of the car, Roy?" Hank asked.

"Cap, I saw a red blur, and then the rig in front of us. I thought it was over."

Hank chilled everyone with his reply, "It very nearly was."

______

"We didn't leave as much as a scratch on the squad!" Johnny protested. "See for yourself."

Charlie, the department's top mechanic and motor pool expert, stood with arms crossed over his chest. "Imagine my surprise, gentlemen," His bushy eyebrows lifted each time he spoke, "finding out you had a traffic incident two days ago. What ever happened to respecting the vehicles you drive and notifying yours truly?"

Both men inwardly cringed. When the mechanic came around, you wanted to hide. His sarcastic witticism left one feeling inept.

"Good grief," Johnny said thunderstruck, "you're making it sound as if we had control over what happened, which _we didn't_," Johnny returned just as heatedly.

"If one of my babies get damaged it won't be you working over-time hours to get her fixed up."

Roy coolly interjected, "Charlie, nothing happened to her."

"We'll see DeSoto," Charlie insisted. "You two aren't the easiest on the equipment." He proceeded into the bay area to check the squad over.

Roy's mouth opened then closed. Mike was wishing for the tones to sound, he had no desire to be under the cross hairs of Charlie, and his biting tongue.

_____

"Can you believe Charlie?" Johnny complained to Roy as they stretched hose.

Trying to appease his aggravated friend Roy said, "He can be obsessive."

"I'll give ya that Roy, an obsessive pain in the a—"

"Easy," Roy quickly said over Johnny verbal assault. "Be grateful he finished with us quickly."

"Yeah, then he started in on Mike. Roy, the man is impossible and a little crazy."

"I wouldn't say crazy; he is just passionate about his job."

"Okay partner, you can call him passionate, I'll stick with crazy."

­­_____

The third week in August brought little league playoffs. It had come down to two teams, the Los Angeles Dodgers, the team Ryan's play for, and the Anaheim Angels. The Dodger's needed the win to advance to a tie breaking final game. They were up by one run. The Angels best hitter came to the plate. It was the bottom of the ninth, with two outs, and a man on second base. You could feel the anticipation in the air; it lay as thick as the fog of June Gloom."

"Strike one!" The umpire shouted as the pitch traveled over the plate.

Calls of encouragement came from the Anaheim dugout. "C'mon Phil you can do it. Don't take your eyes off the ball."

The Dodger's catcher signaled the play. The pitcher nodded. He wound up and threw the pitch, an inside fastball. The crack of the bat electrified the crowd. Depending on what team you rooted for, cheers or jeers filled the air. Groans of dismay seconds later replaced those of jubilation as every eye watched the ball soar deep into right field were it was grabbed for the out.

"What a spectacular reach and grab by right fielder Ryan Clayton!" The announcer said, "That's the game folks. The Los Angeles Dodgers move on to Thursday night's tie breaking match to determine who will come away with the glory."

Ryan's teammates surrounded him nearly knocking him to the ground in their excitement. Johnny watched as Ryan reveled in the moment.

"Awesome play dude."

"Way to be there Ryan."

"What a catch!"

"That's the way to save the game Clayton."

Once his teammates dispersed, Johnny saw Ryan looking to where he and Roy stood at the fence line. A huge smile appeared and he trotted over.

"Did ya see that?" He said eagerly through the protective fence.

"The practicing has paid off," Johnny told him. "You saved the game."

"Mr. DeSoto?" Ryan asked, "Do ya think Chris can come to my last game?"

"Clayton!" His coach called.

"I tell him you asked," Roy said.

"Clayton!" his coach called again.

"I gotta go, see ya Johnny, Mr. DeSoto."

He ran to the dugout.

Kevin Brown greeted. "You made Ryan's day."

"Thank the good citizens of Carson, for not needing our attention for the last thirty minutes." Roy commented.

Just then, the HT sounded in his hand. "Squad 51, man down at the car wash, 653 Lincoln Ave, 6.5.3. Lincoln Ave. Timeout 16:36."

Bringing the HT up to his mouth Roy acknowledged, "Squad 51, responding."

"You must log some pretty interesting calls." Kevin observed.

"Some days are more interesting than other's." Johnny admitted. "See ya."

­______

"Ryan's team lost the championship game yesterday."

"It's just a game, Max." Rodger said into the phone.

"He was pretty bummed about it."

"Ryan will get over it. Disappointment is another of life's tough lessons."

"You know Rodger sometimes you can be a cold-hearted bastard."

"So they tell me."

"Ryan had plenty of support at the game. Gage was there along with Ryan's new friend and his family. I sat with Linda and Kevin. Margery sat off by herself. I hadn't seen her since July; she's not lookin' so haggard."

"I really don't need a blow by blow commentary, Max." The annoyance in the other's voice unmistakable.

Changing the subject Max said, "An interesting bit of news reached me yesterday while at the game."

"About?"

"Station 51 was involved in a near miss auto accident."

"Why would I care?"

"I told you I was keeping my eyes open Rodger. If I find out you had anything—"

Rodger protested, "How could I—"

"Rodger I'll turn you in myself and you'll be doing extra time."

"Really Max—believe me I had nothing to do with this. An accident can just be an accident you know. I'm taking your advice and staying under the radar."

"I know. It seems you've become the model prisoner, but I swear you better be playing straight with me."

"Can we talk about something else?" Rodger sighed.

"Did you know your wife went to Gage's apartment to talk with him?"

"She did what?" Rodger spoke keeping his voice low, but harsh.

"Apparently she tried convincing Gage you needed to see Ryan."

"It didn't work, obviously," Rodger said without humor. "She hasn't been to see me in a couple of weeks."

"Maybe my spineless sister has finally seen the light."

"And you say I'm the bastard," Rodger complained.

­­______

The second week of October shared her full chromatic color with any Californian willing to notice. Of course, in California one traveled to the higher elevations to capture nature's beauty shot. The extra effort was worth it. The hardwood trees displayed an alluring assortment of buttery yellows, deep reds, and glowing oranges. Green, fought for its share of dominance from the lodge pole pines interspersed throughout the forest.

Johnny appeased his unenthusiastic hiking collaborate, "Ah c'mon Roy, the kids are digging this. It did get you outta doin' the chores Joanne had all set up for ya."

"Humph." Roy grunted. When it came to relaxation, the way the two friends experienced it couldn't be further apart. Johnny had talked him into bringing the kids into Angeles National Forest—to check out the color. This was how he relaxed. Roy didn't feel the urge to commune with nature since, in his opinion; he received enough 'nature,' via the job. No, Roy was content to stick to less vigorous activates.

He had to admit Johnny was right; his kids were enjoying the time spent outdoors. Jen reveled in Johnny's undivided attention, her love of nature encouraged, and supported. Chris and Ryan were talking together as they walked. The two friends had not spent time together since the start of school.

"Did you invite your family for Christmas?" Roy asked.

Johnny gave him a skewed look. "Yeah, they're flying in December twenty-six. They can only stay until the twenty-ninth. Liz couldn't take more time."

"What did your father think of this?"

"Actually, he refused to come at first. He told me he didn't think coming would be in anyone's best interest."

"What changed his mind?"

"Not what, but who, Liz." Johnny didn't give any details.

Keeping a keen on his daughter who was trailing behind the boys he asked, "I assume they'll be staying at a hotel?"

"My apartment isn't handicap accessible."

Seeing Roy's look of surprise Johnny quickly enlightened him, "The work related accident my father suffered compressed his T-12 and L-1 vertebrae. He is permanently paralyzed him from the waist down."

"I'm sorry Johnny."

Johnny nodded. "My aunt kept the information to herself."

"I don't understand," said Roy.

Johnny found himself feeling badly he had kept Roy in the dark about his trip home. It wasn't that he didn't want to share his experience; he needed time to come to terms with what he discovered.

"Roy, how would you feel if you discovered the one person you trusted without question, kept important information from you, and lied for years?"

Roy could see the pain of betrayal enter his friend's eyes. "I can't tell you from experience Johnny, but I imagine I would feel let down, and angry as hell. What exactly did your aunt keep from you?"

"Look Uncle Johnny!" Jennifer called excitedly, pointing up.

Both men looked up to find three black hawks circling overhead. Johnny smiled at Jennifer's show of enthusiasm, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Black Hawks Jen," Johnny told her. "They're hunting."

"Way cool!" she called and happily waited for them to catch up. "Uncle Johnny?"

"Yeah, kitten?"

She pointed to where her brother and Ryan were now standing still. "Why does Ryan look mad?"

______

Hey, Chris, why do you call Johnny, an uncle? He isn't really your uncle, right?" The two boys had gone ahead. Chris, carrying a long stick, dragged it over the ground leaving a narrow furrow in the dirt.

"Nah he isn't," He said. "My dad and Johnny are best friends; I grew up calling him an uncle. My real uncle, isn't any where near as cool."

"Uncle Kevin is nice. Uncle Max is too." Ryan said. Seeing the look of confusion cross Chris' face he explained, "The guy who was sitting next to my Uncle Kevin at my last baseball game." Refreshing Chris' memory. "He's Mom's brother, but Mom doesn't like him very much."

"How come?" Chris found it very strange, a brother and sister didn't talk with one another.

"I dunno," Ryan shrugged. "Something happened between them but Mom never talks about it."

"Wow that's pretty bogus." Chris supplied. "My dad and his brother get along— though Uncle Ray lives in Seattle. My uncle is divorced. I have an aunt and couple of cousins. I don't 'get to see em very often."

"Your dad is real nice," Ryan announced. "I think it's neat he's in the fire department. My dad—" Ryan stopped speaking a crestfallen expression appearing. He looked at the ground and angrily kicked at a rock. "He made everything a mess." With each syllable his anger rose. "My mom cried cuz he hit her. Now she cries cuz, I can't live with her. I miss being with my mom. It's all _his_ fault." Ryan picked up a rock and flung it as hard as he could. "My dad will be outta jail in three months. He'll come home and do the same thing."

Chris stood by unsure of what to do or say.

"Chris," Johnny called softly gaining his attention. When Chris raised puzzled eyes to him, Johnny, inclined his head toward where his father and his sister waited further back on the trail. Chris understood and went to join them leaving Johnny alone with Ryan.

When he was within earshot Jennifer said, "Chris—Ryan looks _really_ mad?"

Ignoring his sister he asked his father, "Dad, did I say something wrong?"

"I don't know Chris, what were you two talking about?"

He began to explain, "We were talking about uncles and…"

______

Johnny suspected nothing Chris directly said set Ryan off. However, watching the dejected boy walk away, his father would have to do some prompt convincing it wasn't his fault.

"What is it Ryan?" The mentor sat down on a rock keeping his body relaxed inviting Ryan to do the same.

Head down the boy's right foot slid back and forth scraping the dirt. "I didn't mean to get mad."

"Why are you upset?" Johnny asked kindly.

"I don't know!" Ryan said forcefully. "All of a sudden I got to thinking' 'bout how nice Uncle Kevin, you, and Mr. DeSoto are to me, but my dad hits my mom and me, yells at us a lot, and drinks to much. How come he isn't like you guys?"

Johnny stood up and faced Ryan. "Some people are sad and the feeling doesn't go away."

Ryan head bobbed up and down. "Like my mom."

"Yes like your mother, but in some people Ryan, that feeling causes them to become angry. They drink to make themselves feel better. In some people, alcohol only makes the anger worse and they take it out on the people closest to them." As he spoke, he was thinking of his own father.

Ryan's voice became tight and his lower jaw and lip trembled. "I miss being with my m—mom. How long is it gonna be before I can live with her again?" His eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

Johnny felt his own throat tightened. It would be a while before Margery would prove to be financially capable, or emotionally stable enough to take charge.

He cleared his throat before speaking. "Ryan I don't have the answers to these questions, but you have to know your mom loves you."

Swiping his eyes the eleven year old said, "I know. She tells me."

"It will take time, but things will get better."

"Yeah I hear that a lot."

"I know." Johnny gave Ryan's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Are you ready to go?"

"Sure, but Chris must think I'm a big baby."

"No, Chris is a friend, and someone you don't have to hide from."

______


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with 'em._

Forgiveness Factor

Written by: Kianda

Chapter Five

* * *

While October marched forward, its changeable weather conditions helped spawn Santa Ana. In the canyons, the wild fires typically felt this time of the year, fueled by the hot and dry winds, remained within controllable levels. Brushfire companies, generally run ragged by October's end were breathing easier, thanks to the remarkable soaking rains received in September—remnants of Hurricane Kathleen. Nature's wind phenomenon roared in, stayed a few hours, and then ended with her typical composure.

"Trick or Treat!" A chorus of young voices greeted Captain Stanley and Mike, who held a bowl of candy, at the side door to the station. Every year on Halloween, the neighborhood children would come around to the fire station looking for treats. A witch, Sleeping Beauty, Pinocchio, Black beard, and a pint sized ghost rounded out the latest group. Mike smiled as he handed out the treats, commenting on their costumes. Parents hung back unwilling to accompany their children to the door.

Chet argued with Marco. Both men were sitting on the day-room couch. "This night is usually filled with weird happenings." Henry, sprawled between them and being petted by both men, loved the attention. "Tell me I'm wrong, Marco."

"Chet, you're being superstitious. Halloween night is just like any other. Apart from countless people in costume partying too much, and getting into trouble, there is nothing 'Twilight Zone' about any call we get. And, before you go blaming it on a full moon," he concluded rather assuredly, "there won't be one of those, either."

"Just wait, we're gonna get toned out for something out of the ordinary," Chet insisted. "Have you forgotten what happened last Halloween?"

Marco elbowed his friend and dropped his voice in warning, "I know where you're going with this. Not a good idea." His eyes slid toward the kitchen table where the two paramedics sat drinking coffee.

Ignoring the advice Chet reminisced rather loudly. "Who could ever forget that hot little number in the Catwoman costume. She was all over you Gage."

Marco once again tried to silence the runway-mouth-on-the-coach, with little luck.

"Your face matched the color of the engine. 'I like a man who wears a uniform, Mr. Gage,'" Chet crooned. '"If you need anything just call me." I thought you would be the one needing oxygen, Johnny. Remember where she tried to stash her phone number?"

"Now you've gone and done it." Marco slinked lower into the couch and waited for the fireworks, but was surprised when Johnny flashed Chet a self-satisfied smile.

"She was something wasn't she? You're just peeved, Chet, because it wasn't you she gave her phone number to."

Marco and Roy both smiled at the look on Chet's face.

Tones sounded. Conditioned to react they immediately stood. Cap and Mike headed toward the apparatus bay.

"_Squad 51, Man down, at the Stewart Filmscreen Corporation. 1161 Sepulveda Blvd. one, one, six, one, Sepulveda Blvd. An ambulance is in route, time out 16:08."_

"Squad 51, ten-four KMG365."

"The Stewart Filmscreen Corporation has some pretty heavy clients," Johnny commented. "Universal Studios, Paramount, major television networks, and even the Pentagon, use their screens."

"How do you know?" Roy asked surprised, but not taking his eyes from the road. Since the near miss with the engine, he was hyper-vigilant behind the wheel.

"I read it in a magazine article; they were given an award a number of years back for their innovative thinking in film screen design."

"Junior, there are days you do surprise me."

"Stuff like this I'm into. It blows my mind at how fast new technology is being developed, not to mention," he added smoothly, "I see the inside of a movie theater a lot."

"Yes . . . you do," Roy answered. A half smile forming.

When they pulled up to a non-descript brick building; people paused in their activities to watch as the two gathered their equipment, and entered the lobby. A female of around forty, greeted them.

"Are you the one who called ma'am?" Roy asked.

"Yes. I'm Mrs. Barbara Michaels," She explained, "Calvin is one floor up." She led them to an open elevator. All three stepped inside and she pressed the number two button on the elevator panel.

Once the door closed Roy inquired, "Ma'am what happened?"

The elevator started its upward climb. "Calvin Hudson, one of our designers, collapsed in his office. One minute he was fine, the next sprawled on the floor."

Roy looked at Johnny, and continued with his questioning. "How long ago?"

Checking her watch she said, "not long, under ten minutes. I called for help as soon as it happened. One of the staff is with him now."

"What was he doing when he collapsed?"

"Mr. Hudson just finished dictating a letter to me. I'm the secretary here," she clarified as the elevator slowed. "He started telling me about something that occurred on his walk this morning. He only started walking a couple of weeks back. Without warning, he turned very pale, and collapsed. He struck his head on the side of the desk. I can tell you it scared me to death."

The elevator doors opened. As they made their way toward the victims office, Barbara said, "I thought at first Calvin was pulling a joke. He is big into the whole Halloween scene, and likes to clown around, but I realized this wasn't any joke when he didn't move. I loosened his clothing, and made sure he could breathe okay. I then called for help."

"You did fine," Roy assured her.

Entering the office, the paramedics quickly went to the downed man's side. A female hovering over him scampered out of the way as they entered. "He opened his eyes twice, but only for a moment," she said. "I couldn't get him to say anything. Is he going to be okay?"

"We'll do everything we can for him." Johnny said checking for a pulse. Next he made sure the downed man had an adequate airway. "Mr. Hudson if you hear me, open your eyes."

"Nothing," he told his partner after a second attempt. "His pulse is normal. He's showing a considerable bump on the side of his head."

"He's pale and moist to the touch," Roy confirmed. "Wrapping a blood pressure cuff around the unconscious man's arm Roy proceeded to take a blood pressure reading. "Johnny, let's patch him up to the EKG."

Roy supplied Johnny with the results of the BP, then addressed Mrs. Michaels, "Ma'am, do you know if he had anything to eat or drink recently?"

"He went to lunch at around 1:00 p.m. I don't know if he had anything to drink today, but if he did it is usually just water."

"Mrs. Michaels? "Johnny gained the woman's attention. "This is important. Do you know if he is taking any medications at present . . . prescription, or any over the counter medicines?"

"I wouldn't know about prescription drugs. Calvin does suffer migraine headaches. I haven't any idea what he takes for them. I can check his desk drawer, maybe he keeps something here at the office."

"It would be helpful."

After applying patches to the man's chest Johnny reached for the bio-phone.

"Rampart this is squad 51."

"Go ahead 51," Dixie answered.

"Rampart we have a male approximately 55 years of age . . . "

"He's 52." Barbara corrected handing Johnny a large bottle of vitamins.

Johnny scanned the contents on the label as he talked into the receiver, "Correction Rampart, male is 52 and around 190 pounds. We found him unconscious on the floor of his office upon arrival. According to an office worker, he's been down ten minutes. He opened his eyes twice with no communication. The victim apparently stopped talking abruptly, and collapsed. He struck his head on the side of the desk as he fell, and has a bump at the right temple. His skin is pale and moist. We currently have him on 02 and we have him patched and ready for you to receive a strip. Vitals are, blood pressure 140/95, pulse 98, respiration is 14 and regular. Pupils are both equal and reactive. On a side note, the patient suffers from migraine headaches, and has also begun a recent exercise program."

"51, administer IV D5W TKO, and send a strip."

"10-4, sending you a strip."

"Johnny, look at this."

A dark bruise-like discoloration on the left calf section of the patient's leg grabbed Johnny's attention.

"Has Mr. Hudson complained of leg pain recently?"

"I'd forgotten," Barbara told Johnny. "He came to work a little over a week ago favoring that leg. When I asked what was wrong he explained he banged it while cleaning his garage."

A moment later Dr. Brackett sounded over the com, "51, strip is unremarkable. Is the patient currently on any medications?"

"His co-worker is unsure about any prescription drugs. The victim does take multivitamins. Also, Rampart the patient has a contusion on his left calf, sustained a week ago. It appears slightly swollen and is hot to the touch." He heard a slight moan. "Hey, hey, Roy, he's comin' around." He told Dr. Brackett, "standby, patient is regaining consciousness."

"10-4, 51, standing by."

"What am I doing on the floor?" the confused man asked fuzzily when he realized where he was. "What's this in my arm, and who are you?"

"We're fireman/paramedics with Los Angles County. You passed out, and were unconscious for a few minutes," Roy said. "Since you were unconscious, the hospital authorized me to start an I.V. on you. How do you feel now?"

"Confused and embarrassed," Calvin said trying to sit up.

"Lie still for me," Roy said gently. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Calvin Hudson."

"How old are you?"

"52."

"Mr. Hudson, what year is this?"

"1976. I feel okay, really."

"Did you experience any shortness of breath, or dizziness before you collapsed?"

"No, nothing like that, but I have felt, off."

"Any pain or nausea?"

No nausea but I've had some discomfort in my left leg for over a week. As I was talking with Barbra, I felt a sharp pulling sensation in the leg. I have a headache, but can't tell you how I wound up on the floor."

"You struck your head on the desk as you fell."

Bringing his hand up to his head, "No, I had the headache before this added new one. I thought I was getting a migraine only it came on sudden-like. I feel tired too."

"Any chest discomfort?"

"No."

"Does your neck or back hurt at all?"

"No."

Johnny picked up the bio-phone receiver, "Rampart further information from the patient states he felt pain in his left leg before syncopal episode. He also says he feels fatigued and has a headache."

"Ten-four 51, take another BP."

"Standby, BP coming up." Johnny released the air from the cuff,"BP is 125/85. "

"Keep the left leg slightly elevated and bring him in."

"10-4 Rampart."

Two ambulance attendants wheeled a stretcher into the room, accompanied by a police officer.

"Barbara, you called for an ambulance?"

"Mr. Hudson, you were unconscious," Johnny explained. "We are uncertain as to the cause. The doctor will want to exam you."

"Calvin, you scared me better than one of your Halloween pranks could," Barbara intervened giving him a stern look. "Go to the hospital and let them figure out what happened. If it's nothing, you'll know soon enough."

"The scheduled project meeting—"

"Can wait," she told him.

"But the boss. . . "

"Will forgive you."

Giving in, Calvin sighed, and nodded.

"Ma'am, I'll need some information from you," the officer said.

"Certainly Officer. Calvin, as soon as I'm done, I will meet you at the hospital."

* * *

"In room two, Johnny," Dixie said, as he walked beside the stretcher holding the IV bag in his hand.

He told her, "vitals are stable. No changes on EKG."

He handed Dixie the IV bag, and helped transfer the patient to the exam table.

"You're in good hands," he told Calvin.

"Thanks," Calvin replied.

The ambulance attendants wheeled the stretcher from the room; Dr. Brackett, holding the door open allowed them to exit, before entering.

"I'll be heading out if you don't need me for anything else."

His eyes skimming over the chart in his hands Brackett told the paramedic, "Go ahead."

The doctor turned his attention to his patient, "Mr. Hudson? How are you feeling now?"

* * *

"Happy Halloween to you chipmunk. I'll talk with you soon." Johnny hung up the phone and headed toward the cookie jar. He was wearing a smile. His sister was doing better. Ever since the phone conversation he had with his father, her life had been made easier. It seemed his father came to some understanding within himself. Johnny didn't care how his father managed it, just as long as he had. The two Gage men were speaking with one another over the phone, but Johnny was doing it for his sister and no one else. Liz told him his father was once again being monitored by Dr. Logan, and he had been placed on a different medication. Liz also said that the change had taken place when she and Lisa were in Colorado. Liz thanked Johnny for being willing to talk.

"Isn't that right Gage?"

Swallowing his mouth full of cookie, Johnny focused, and asked, "Right Gage, what?"

"You had a weird call, right?"

"Sorry to disappoint you Kelly. Nothing peculiar happened on our call."

"No, but you can't explain what caused the man to collapse right, that's what Roy said?"

"You know these kinds of medical calls happen," Johnny explained. "Halloween has nothing to do with it."

The Irishman said adamantly, "Yeah, well, maybe on this one, but the night is still young."

"I'll tell you what your problem is, Kelly," Johnny clued in his superstitious shift-mate while pouring a large glass of milk. "You need to lay off the late night horror flicks."

Chet looked offended. "For your information, Johnny boy, I hardly ever watch those kinds of movies . . . unless of course I'm with a date. Besides, we see enough of the real life horror everyday man. It turns me off to all that blood and guts stuff on the tube."

"Chet's more the documentary type," Marco slid in.

"Make fun, but prepare yourself. Something will happen."

Wiggling his fingers, and using a ghost-like voice, Johnny teased, "Beware . . . you are about to enter the macabre, and twisted, imagination of Chester B. Kelly."

Laughter erupted from Marco, and chuckles came from Cap, and Mike. Chet's face flushed.

Missing the joke, and joining Johnny at the table Roy said, "I just got off the phone with Dixie. They admitted Mr. Hudson. They think he suffered a TIA."

"What's that?" Chet asked.

"A mini stroke."

Thumping the table Johnny grinned then said, "Better luck next time. Nothing otherworldly here."

The side door buzzer rang. "Chet," Captain Stanley said thrusting the candy bowl at him.

"Cap." Chet protested. A frantic pounding replaced the buzzer."

"That's the problem with the kids of today, no patience," the man holding the bowl nitpicked.

A muffled cry came through the door, "Help!"

Instantly on alert, everyone followed Captain Stanley to the door. Brown, blue, and hazel eyes widened, at what met their sight. Two teenage boys, one in a Robin Hood costume, and one in a Friar Tuck outfit, stood before them. The one dressed as Robin Hood fully supported the other male, and a panicky expression covered his face. The wounded man was bleeding significantly from what caused everyone's initial reaction—an arrow. It was protruding from the 'friar's' side. Blood dripped onto the concrete and the boy slumped over, unable to stand without help.

"Ya gotta help us!" 'Robin' pleaded.

This wasn't a prank. Hank fell into command mode, while relieving the teen of his burden. "Gage, DeSoto! Let's get him inside. Stoker, phone in a still alarm, and request a police cruiser and ambulance. Kelly, Lopez, grab the equipment from the squad, including a backboard. On the double, boys."

"I'm dying," the terrified teen mumbled.

Everyone flew to action. Rapidly assessing the situation, Johnny told the terrified impaled teen, "You're gonna be alright. Try to relax. Cap, let's take all of his weight and bring the backboard here. This walking around isn't doing him any favors."

The teenage Robin Hood started talking. "Like, Carlos wasn't bleeding this bad until he tried to yank out the arrow. I stopped him before he pulled it all the way out. I heard somewhere that it would be, like bad. I tried to stop the bleeding but nothing I used to pack it, worked. We were out in the woods, and no houses nearby, so I helped Carlos into my car, and started for the hospital. Carlos had been talkative, then started going quiet like he couldn't stay awake. He looked off, man. I got real scared thinking he'd die before we reached the hospital, but then I saw the station."

"You made the right decision. What's your name?" Roy asked.

"Alec Ward."

"Alec, we are going to take good care of your friend."

Captain Stanley and Johnny carefully lowered Carlos onto the backboard. They carried him into the day-room where they would have more room to work.

Chet had set up the bio-phone; both the drug, and trauma boxes were open. Marco carried the oxygen canister in, and Mike having finished with the still alarm call, retrieved a blanket from the squad.

"You kept your head in a tight situation, Alec." Johnny said.

"It's my fault he's here." The boy stopped pacing long enough to answer.

"You can explain about that later. How long ago did this happen?"

"Fifteen minutes."

Roy held the bio-phone receiver in his hand. "Rampart, this is squad 51, how do read?"

"Go ahead 51, we read you loud and clear."

Lowering the receiver, Roy asked Alec, "how old is your friend?"

"This is too much." He raised one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Like man, 19." His voice dropped to a near whisper, "Is he gonna die?"

"Not if we have anything to say about it," Johnny said. "Carlos, we're giving you oxygen which will help with your breathing."

"Rampart we have a still alarm here at the station, for a male, nineteen years of age, around 145 lbs. He is suffering from an arrow injury to the right side of his body and he has lost around 600cc of blood. We have him on six liters of 02 by NRB mask. He is cool and clammy. Guarding tenderness felt in the lower right quadrant. Standby for vitals.

"I'm hurtin'," the boy moaned.

"I know it hurts, but try to relax. We are going to help you, but you have to try and stay calm. Chet place field dressings around the wound site." Johnny began taking vitals.

"51, Do you have an estimate of the arrow's length?"

"Alec, how long is the arrow?"

"Um, thirteen and a half inches, I think."

"Rampart friend states thirteen and a half inches. I estimate eight inches of aluminum shaft is visible from the wound site; five and a half are internal."

"What type of point was on the end of the shaft, 51?"

Again, Roy looked to Alec.

"A target point, it's smooth but has sides that stick out a little."

"Friend states the tip of the arrow has a target point attached, smooth, with side edges that stick out slightly. Rampart, further soft tissue damage occurred when the victim tried, but was prevented from completely dislodging the arrow."

Hank observed Alec start to shake, reaction setting in. "Let's get you seated," he told the young man moving him toward the kitchen.

"Rampart vitals are BP 90/50 . . ."

Distracting Alec, Hank sat him down. Mike sat beside him. The voice of Dr. Morton fled into the background. "Why don't you tell us what happened."

"You're not gonna believe it man, even if I tell you."

_"51, start large bore IV of normal saline, TKO . . ."_

"Try us, anyway," Hank encouraged, filling a glass with water, and placing it on the table for Alec, who ignored it.

"_51, do not try and shorten the object for transport. Immobilize object as best you can, monitor vitals closely, and transport immediately."_

"_Rampart Ambulance has not yet arrived."  
_

"It was like something out of a freakish horror show," Alex explained. "first off," he affirmed, "it was an accident. As a gas, Carlos and I both decide to dress like this for a costume party tonight. We had time to kill, and Carlos wanted to target practice, you know, before heading to my friends crib. I'm into archery. I know it wasn't the brightest idea to head for the woods, instead of the practice range, but we weren't going to be at it long so what was the harm?" He stopped talking and reached for the water glass, taking a large swallow. He needed both hands to hold the glass steady. "Carlos was standing off to the side of the target, a safe distance away, so I thought. When I notched the arrow, and went to release it, I feel this wicked pinch under my arm. It caused me to jerk; my shot went wide striking Carlos."

Carlos moaned, and Alec blanched. "I think it was a bee, 'cause it stung at first, now itches."

Both firemen looked at one another, Hank silently shaking his head. Talk about your bizarre accident. "Would you mind showing me?" Hank asked.

Alec gave him a blank stare.

"Where you were stung?"

"Oh, sure man." Alec took his arm out of his shirtsleeve, and lifted his arm above his head. Sure enough a round red quarter-size bump was visible on his skin. Alec was telling the truth, though Hank suspected, it wasn't any bee.

"What do you think Mike, insect or spider bite?"

"Looks like a spider bite to me, Cap."

"A spider! Is that what got me?"

"Let's get a cold compress on that bite, it'll help with the itching," Hank told the startled boy.

Mike rose to his feet and went to grab a couple of sterile dressings from the trauma box. He informed Roy about the bite, who gave instructions to wash the effected area thoroughly with warm water and soap, then to apply ice to help reduce the swelling and itching.

As Mike administered the first aid, Hank assured the boy. "Most spider bites aren't serious, Alec, but can be painful for a couple of days." He then added, "the police will want Carlos' contact information. His parents need to be notified."

"They've been outta town, Las Vegas, I think. Alec looked over to where his friend lay, and the remainder of his color fled. "Oh, God, he looks bad. He's gonna die."

"Take it easy; the paramedics will do everything they can, and the hospital will take care of the rest."

The buzzer sounded at the door. Marco opened it to an LAPD officer.

"Vince, I see you drew the short straw tonight," Hank greeted.

"You know how it is. Extra coverage hours for Halloween. What have we got?"

"This is Alec Ward," Hank told Vince, and then switched his attention to Alec. "Tell the officer what you told us. When your friend is ready to be transported you can ride up front in the ambulance."

Eying Vince, Alec said, "I feel sick. I want to wash up."

"Mike, take him to the latrine."

"I'll take him," Vince said leading the boy toward the bathroom. "How old are you Alec . . . ?"

Hank and Mike walked into the dayroom. Carlos was ready for transport. The boy looked pasty, and his eyes held a dull sheen, but his breathing no longer sounded as labored.

"How's he doing?" Hank asked.

"He's ready for transport, Cap," Roy said. "Alec saved his life by not allowing Carlos to yank out the arrow."

"The ambulance is here," Chet informed Roy.

As soon as they entered, Roy waved the ambulance attendants over. Johnny and Roy placed the backboard on the stretcher.

"I'll ride in with him," Roy informed his partner.

Carlos hadn't come out of the latrine yet.

Johnny said, "I'll take Carlos in the squad, Cap."

"Phew," Hank verbalized. "The kid is lucky his friend didn't panic. This is another one for the Halloween book. Chet just might be onto something."

"For once, I might even agree," Johnny said.

* * *

November ushered in the promise of wet weather ahead, and the excitement of the impending holidays. Tuesday morning, Roy and Johnny left the station, another shift completed.

"Joanne was asking about you, why not pop in for breakfast?"

"I'm swinging by Rampart this morning. I'm meeting Olivia for coffee, and I want to check up on how Carlos is doing."

Roy standing before his Porsche, keys in hand, remarked, "There is this neat invention called the telephone. Besides, didn't you tell me you weren't seeing Olivia?"

"I'm not; I dig her Roy, but timing is important in any relationship, and ours is outta sync. Besides, I wound up doing all the chasing."

Roy giving Johnny a mystified glance said, "Then if you know—why are you—?" Sometimes trying to make sense of Johnny's way of thinking, took energy. He wasn't up for it this morning. Shaking his head he said, "forget I asked, Romeo."

* * *

"Roy? We should discuss Thanksgiving," Joanne told her husband, that same evening, as she placed the book she was reading face down on her lap. The kids were in bed, and instrumental music flowed softly from the stereo system in the background.

Seated across from her in his easy chair, engaged in a book of his own, Roy did not take his eyes from the page he was reading as he answered her, "whatever you make will be fine."

An annoyed look crossed her face. "Thank you, Roy, hamburgers it will be."

Absently he answered, "Everyone enjoys—Hamburgers?"

He gave her a sheepish look. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

"I'm usually the one who cooks the turkey for the dinner at the station, but this year Mrs. Lopez has kindly offered to do it."

"So, what's the problem?" Roy asked.

"I will be bringing deserts. I wondered how many pies to make?

"How many did someone bake last year?

"Three."

"Bake three then. Stick with pumpkins pies, I know everyone likes Pumpkin."

"Roy," Jo said making a point. "It's Thanksgiving; what about Pecan Pie, and Mince Meat?"

"Make one of each then," he told her reaching for his book once more. "But speaking for the guys, and myself, Mincemeat isn't anyone favorite."

"For goodness sakes!" she said surprised. "How come none of you ever bothered to mention this before?"

"It wouldn't be polite to complain about the food cooked for us."

"You're right," she conceded. "I'll make two pumpkins and one pecan." then added with a smile, "the Pecan is for Johnny, he could use some fattening up."

It amazed him how on one hand, Johnny could instill such loyalty in woman, like his wife, Dixie, Marco's mother; Emily Stanley, and some others , yet still strike out left and right, when he dated. "Anything else I can help you with?" He asked, grinning.

"Yes, while I have your attention. I'm thinking it would be nice to invite Johnny's family over for dinner while they're here."

"I guess it's a good idea. I'll run it by Johnny tomorrow."

Casually she asked, "Has he spoken to you at all about what his plans are while they are here?"

"No," he told her.

"You men are all alike," Joanne grumbled, "Closed mouthed to the end." So saying, she brought her book back up, and continued to read.

Roy smiled behind his book.

* * *

The evening passed slowly for Johnny. He had struck out with trying to secure a date for this evening, so he was home, and bored. After finding nothing to catch his interest on TV, he tried reading. He found he couldn't concentrate. He turned on music. Music always helped to relax him but not this evening. He found himself edgy, but didn't know why. Standing up he headed for the door; maybe a drive would settle him. As he passed the phone, it rang.

"Hello, Johnny."

Recognizing the voice at the other end, Johnny said, "Linda? Is everything all right?

"I need to discuss something with you . . . if you have a moment."

His restlessness forgotten, he said, "Sure, what's up?"

"Today, Ryan was in an altercation with another classmate, and they sent him home. It appears this classmate has been riding him non-stop since school began. For whatever reason today, Ryan let the other kid have it."

Johnny frowned. His concern grew.

"When I went to pick Ryan up, he wouldn't explain why it happened. According to the other kid's account, Ryan just let loose. Kevin, and I, discussed pulling Ryan from AC Middle; it hasn't been the easiest place for him to be, considering the events that took place. When we offered this suggestion to Ryan, he surprisingly said no. I've noticed increasing agitation as the time draws closer for his father's release from prison. Especially since, he went to see him. Has he said anything at all to you?"

Johnny couldn't keep the surprise from his tone, "Other than the incident I told you about on our outing, he hasn't mentioned anything. When did he visit?"

"I'm worried about him Johnny. He went to the prison last week with Max. I don't understand what prompted the visit. I know Margery hasn't been pressuring him. Ryan said he wanted to talk with him. We made certain Max would be with him the whole time. Max said the meeting went fine. Rodger was genuinely happy to see him, told him how much he'd grown, but no apologies from Rodger, and I think Ryan needed to hear one. When Ryan first came to stay with us, it took him awhile before he became comfortable enough to share his feelings. Recently, I'd say within the last several weeks, he's regressed again." Johnny heard a minuscule hesitation before she continued, "I know I am asking quite the favor, but on Friday, would you try and get him to open up? Before I contact Dr Thomas, Ryan's therapist, I'd like to see if we can't get to the bottom of what the fight in school was about, and how he feels about his recent visit to the jail."

"I don't know if I'll be successful Linda, but I'll certainly give it a try."

* * *

Johnny picked Ryan up an hour after he arrived home from school on Friday. While Ryan was happy to see him, Johnny clearly could tell he was unhappy. He wanted Ryan to be comfortable so he suggested they go to McDonald's. Seated in a booth near a window Johnny looked through the glass. The sun glinting off the golden arches made them appear to glow. He brought his attention back to his young charge, and watched Ryan slide his soda cup back and forth between his hands. There were other patrons in the restaurant ordering food; the air heavy with the stale smell of old grease, French Fries, and burgers sitting under the warming lights.

Johnny asked Ryan about his school day.

Ryan shrugged. "Same old stuff."

"I heard about what took place other day. Wanna talk about what happened?"

Ryan shook his head.

"Ah, c'mon, it will help you to talk about it," Johnny encouraged, keeping his voice light and even. "If ya get it off your chest ya won't feel so angry."

Ryan sat silent for a moment the blurted, "I hate school. Kids are forever bustin' on me."

"How so, champ?"

"This one kid," Ryan told Johnny forcibly, "never shuts up. I tried to ignore him, honest I did, but Jason said something that got me so mad, I clocked him one."

"I can understand your frustration Ryan; we all have moments when we feel this way," Johnny said. "What exactly did Jason say?"

Ryan's hands stilled, and his eyes flashed with anger. "He told me I should be in a rubber room with the other crazies, that I would grow up to be just like my dad. A good for nothing, drunken jailbird."

Johnny was no stranger to peer taunts. "_You're a no-good half-breed. No one cares what happens to you. You'll end up just like your old man, a drunken loser." _A flash of heat rushed through him. His palms felt sweaty, and he brushed them across his thighs. He started hearing those kinds of words soon after his mother's death, and he continued to hear them up until the day he left the reservation. He ignored the memory to focus on the task before him. If it had not been Ryan, some other kid would have eventually put Jason in his place. The world was full of kids like Jason.

"Listen Ryan," Johnny spoke gently, "I understand your anger; I would've been angry too, but violence only adds to the problem."

"My aunt said something like that too, but you didn't see everyone's face when I clocked him," Ryan said rebelliously. "They were all happy I did it."

"I'm sure they were, but it doesn't make it acceptable."

"Jason's right anyway," Ryan said unhappily. "I'll grow up to be just like Dad."

"No, Ryan, not if you don't allow it."

Ryan looked at Johnny then. "I don't want my dad to come home."

Now they were getting somewhere. "What's bothering you, Ryan?"

"I heard Uncle Kevin, Aunt Linda, and Uncle Max talking. They didn't know I was listening. They were talking about when Dad gets out. Uncle Max says that Dad is trying to change, that he is nicer, but Aunt Linda doesn't buy it. She thinks my dad is foolin' everybody, including Uncle Max. She was real upset, and told Uncle Max to be careful, not to fall for any of his tricks. Uncle Max said that Dad was confused 'cause my mom stopped visiting him. I didn't know she did that."

Ryan stopped speaking, and Johnny jumped in. "When was this conversation?"

"A few weeks ago."

This must have been what caused Ryan's mood change. "Have you said anything to your mother about this?"

"No, but she's been acting . . . I don't know . . . different."

"Whuddaya mean?"

"She stopped talkin' about Dad. Instead, she tells me what she's learning from those meetings she goes to."

"The support group she attends?"

"Nah, the other one," Ryan said. "The one, the court told her to go too."

Margery was talking about her abuse counseling class. He didn't think she had been attending. "What exactly does she tell you?"

"Stuff you know, about how she shouldn't let Dad pick on her, and when he does, she should leave the house, stuff like that."

Johnny was mildly surprised since the last time he had spoken with Margery, she was pleading her husband's case."

"Uncle Kevin and Aunt Linda said they think Mom is slowly seeing the truth, whatever that is." He looked at Johnny, "I went to visit my dad."

"I know."

"He was happy to see me. He asked me how I was, what I had been doing. He asked about Mom. He said he was glad I had you to talk too, but I didn't believe him. His eyes lie." Ryan took a big gulp of his soda and looked around, before continuing. "I told him Mom doesn't look so tired. She's been smiling more . . ." Ryan's face fell and he said miserably, "he didn't like that very much. Once Dad gets outta jail everything will change."

"How do you think it will change?"

Speaking with far too much wisdom for a child his age, Ryan disclosed, "He never said anything about why he was in jail in the first place. I don't think he's as nice as he wants everyone to believe." Ryan shrugged. "My dad can con the Lincoln off a penny. He'll get Mom to do what he wants."

Fifteen minutes later, Johnny dropped off Ryan and spoke with Linda for a few minutes about what he had learned, and then left to get ready for his date with Mariana, the newest member of the nursing staff at Rampart. Try as he might not to, the conversation with Ryan returned throughout the evening.

* * *

Bouncing into the kitchen on Thursday morning whistling, Johnny observed Chet sitting at the kitchen table sporting a long face.

"What's the matter Chet?" He asked. "If your face got any longer it would be dragging the floor."

"Johnny, I couldn't get anything outta him," C-Shifts paramedic said.

"I wouldn't worry about it Tom, he'll have to tell us eventually. Engine got toned I see?"

"Would you believe not five minutes ago. A semi wrecked spilling liquid detergent onto 405."

"Ouch. Glad I came in early. The 405's gonna wind up a parking lot."

"Yeah, sure will. Well, take easy, and Chet? Cheer up man, you look worse than Henry."

"I'm glad you didn't say good morning," the long faced Irishman told Johnny.

Reaching for a mug Johnny said, "Whatever has got ya all twisted up must be pretty extreme. No wisecracks from you is a sure sign something drastic happened." He poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter eying his down-in-the mouth shift-mate.

"Good Morning Roy," Johnny greeted as his partner entered.

"Morning, Johnny, Chet." Roy returned, giving Johnny a silent _what's the matter with Chet look._

Johnny gave his partner an answering shrug.

"Well Chet, are ya gonna just sit there staring a hole in the table? Or are ya gonna tells us what's got ya down."

Marco came into the kitchen. "Buenos dais." He said to his shift-mates.

"Apparently not for Chet, Marco," Roy said.

Marco addressed his sullen friend. "You gotta be kidding, Chet. Elena said she was sorry."

Both Roy and Johnny turned questioning eyes to Marco. Satisfied it wasn't something serious that had Chet worked up Johnny prodded, "Care to enlighten the rest of us clueless characters? What did Elena do? Are we talking about your cousin, Elena, Marco?"

"The one and the same," the Hispanic answered. He mumbled something in Spanish, moving over to the coffee maker. Johnny slid out of the way so his shift-mate could help himself.

"I don't wanna talk about it," their depressed friend told them.

Roy spoke up eyeing Johnny as he did, "You better tell us Chet, or Johnny is going to explode from curiosity."

Captain Stanley and Mike walked into the kitchen to a chorus of good mornings. He gave Chet a sharp look, hearing his unenthusiastic greeting.

"Coffee, Cap, Mike?" Roy offered politely.

"What gives Kelly," Johnny tried again while Roy brought down two more cups filling them with coffee.

Marco rolled his eyes when Chet remained silent. "Usted es tan testarudo como una mula, (You are as stubborn as a mule) he said under his breath. "Elena, stood him up."

"Oh for Pete's sake, is that all?" Johnny sounded disappointed. "If it'll make ya feel any better, she stood me up too."

Everyone, but Chet smiled.

Seeing the long face on his crew-member, Captain Stanley asked, "Did Stoker, and I miss something?

"Not really, Cap." Roy answered, "If I gauge things correctly, Chet's date didn't happen."

"Really, Kelly," Ramparts Casanova stated, "ya just have to let it go—chalk it up to fickle women," quickly assuring Marco, "no insult to your cousin intended."

"None taken," Marco, said smiling. "There isn't a more fickle woman then my cousin. I did try to warn you, Chet."

"Yeah you did, but I thought you were putting me on."

Slapping his friend on the back Marco reassured, "When it comes to family, my friend, I never joke."

* * *

"Max, I'll need money when I get out of here. I am no longer employed."

"Don't worry about that right away. You still have money in your bank account. Your wife has spent very little."

"Why hasn't she come to see me in over a month?"

"Since we don't talk to one another, I haven't the foggiest notion."

"She better come see me before I get out of here."

"Why is that?"

"She needs to understand a few things."

"You know . . . I have been telling Linda, and Kevin how you've changed. However, the truth is, I know a leopard can't change its spots overnight. Once you're out, your probation begins, so you can't be crossing any lines. You should be happy Ryan finally came to see you."

"Oh I was. I don't understand why Margery has chosen to ignore me. She won't for much longer, though."

"Sounds ominous. What does it mean?" Max demanded.

"Quit your worrying. I only mean we'll be living under the same roof. Avoiding me, if that's what she's been doing, is going to get a whole lot tougher."

Max gave Rodger a penetrating gaze. "I have a feeling you're going to do whatever you want, but just remember you are walking a thin line."

"I'm looking forward to a very cold bear, and some home cooked meals."

"If I were you. I wouldn't even drink. Some people can handle their liqueur; unfortunately you aren't one of them."

"Ah, you're not me. Kindly shut up."

"You have less then eight weeks to go. When are you going to understand, you better tow the line or you'll be doing some hard time."

"Make that one up, did ya?"

"I'm serious, Rodger."

"I can see that, but then again, so am I."


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with 'em._

Forgiveness Factor

Written by: Kianda

Chapter Six

* * *

"_Our history shows us on the original day of Thanksgiving, participants praised God for His intervention and mercy. Over the years, the focus of Thanksgiving shifted from giving humble thanks, to the big deal of turkey dinners, the fanfare of football games, and holiday commercialism. I propose to our listener's out there, take a moment to appreciate the goodness found in your life. Thanksgiving can be a time of individual revival in ones faith, and ones love of family and friends. Enjoy this day. You are listening to the home of the original 'Talk Radio',__ Los Angeles, from all of us, __Happy Thanksgiving."_

"Oh boy," Johnny mumbled while fumbling with the radio dial on the dashboard. Driving to work on Thanksgiving morning, he found the traffic to be light. He hoped his workday would be just as easy.

"_A little bit of Heaven, at ninety-four point seven, KMET—the home of The Mighty Met. If you are just waking up with us, the time is 7:30 AM. The KMET traffic report has the minor slow downs and usual delays happening on the major arteries coming into Los Angeles. The one bright spot is the 405, which is in great condition with no backups or stoppages reported. We have a special treat in-store for all of our KMET listeners on this Thanksgiving morning. You don't want—" _

Once again, he flipped stations until the acoustic symphony from Led Zeppelin's; 'Achilles Last Stand' filled the rover. The long song played all the way to work.

Johnny received his wish for a light morning; only two calls sent the station out, both for traffic accidents, which proved to be minor.

The morning gave way into early afternoon. The Phantom struck sending the youngest paramedic into the locker room to change his uniform shirt. The favorite pigeon usually vocal about being the one targeted, gave the perpetrator a free pass unwilling to complain on a holiday. Nevertheless, his mental scorecard wouldn't forget it.

Sporadically during the course of the day, family members of A-shift dropped by with food for the station's thanksgiving meal, a tradition begun when the firehouse opened. Hugs and greetings added a festive feel to the station, not to mention the televised Thanksgiving football game. The battle between the Buffalo Bills and the Detroit Lions proved to a record breaker as O. J. Simpson rushed for a total of 273 yards, an NFL record. Despite this, the Bills lost anyway 27-14, disappointing Chet who with a disgusted grunt turned the TV set off.

"Where were the rest of the guys during the game?" He commented. "Unbelievable."

"Some games are like that, Chet."

"You would think that Gage."

"Okay sore loser, forget I mentioned it."

The wonderful aroma of cooked turkey, kept warm in the oven, and other eye-catching culinary delights, filled the station's kitchen prompting an early dinner.

As the meal wound down, Marco asked, "More pie anyone?"

"No more for me," Hank replied setting down his coffee mug and slowly rising from his chair, "I ate to much as it is, but a great meal. The ladies outdid themselves yet again."

Mike, carrying a stack of dirty dishes to the sink where they sank beneath mounds of hot sudsy water commented, "I can hardly move."

Hank headed to his office a half grin forming.

Standing in front of the sink, wearing a protective apron, their Irish shift mate began to wash them. Johnny held a drying towel in his hands waiting on Chet to pass off a dish.

"The Pecan Pie was out of this world," Johnny complimented. "Joanne sure knows how to bake."

Gathering up the leftover food Roy told him a bit enviously, "After all the food you piled on your plate, I don't know how you managed to eat three pieces of pie. Where do you put it? My stomach feels ready to burst."

A grin appeared on Johnny's face. "The three pieces were skinny . . . I wasn't alone; Marco did pretty well for himself too."

The food co-conspirator said, "Hand me a dishcloth would ya?"

Johnny immediately retrieved one from the towel drawer. As it was handed over, Marco said, "I was just trying to keep up with you friend."

"Thanks for the support. But give me an hour," Johnny said optimistically patting his stomach, "and I'll have some Pumpkin Pie."

A moan erupted from the dishwasher, as he handed off a wet plate. "You're a walking-talking, bottomless pit ya know that?"

Johnny patted Chet's cheek. "You're just jealous."

Spooning left over turkey gravy into a container Roy asked, "Have you spoken with Lisa, Johnny?"

"Not yet, she'll call tonight." Johnny gave his friend a quizzical glance.

Roy enlightened his puzzled friend. "We'll have no peace at our house until Lisa's arrival. Jennifer mentions her visit at least once a day."

Wearing an indulgent smile Johnny vigorously applied the drying towel to the wet dish in his hand, "I know, and I'm sorry. Every time Jen talks with me she asks if Lisa is still coming."

Wiping the table Marco asked, "What are you planning on doing while you're family is here?"

"I've requested time off." The hesitation while tiny and overlooked by the others did not get past Roy, and when Johnny spoke again his voice no longer held a carefree tone. "I was thinking of taking them to LA for the day."

"Good choice," Marco said, then suggested, "I'd take Lisa to Fun Land too, if there's time. One of my nephews wants me to take him because he heard a rumor new games will be arriving before the New Year."

Johnny's face brightened. "Not a bad idea Marco. It sounds like fun. Roy what day is Joanne heading for her mother's? I'll take Ryan and Lisa, along with your two."

"I've been meaning to mention it. She's not going this year," Roy said.

His partner's eyebrows lifted. "Oh yeah?"

"Her mother is traveling, so Joanne will be home for the entire two weeks the kids are off for Christmas vacation." He opened up the refrigerator and slid the leftover food containers inside. "While I'm at it," he said shutting the fridge door, "Jo, told me to tell you to bring your family over for dinner while they're in town, and said she won't take no for an answer. As far as the kids go taking them to Fun Land will give them something to do."

Handing off a large platter to Johnny, Chet said, "When kids are bored, look out."

"No kidding Chet," Marco completely agreed. "I've watched my sister's kids enough times to know you—"

Klaxon's interrupted. _"Station 51, Engine 36, Engine 10, a report of children missing in the Craven Rock Mine, 2100 Mine Way Blvd. Two-One-Zero-Zero, Mine Way Blvd. Meet police at site, Time out_ _17:17."_

Chet spoke to know one in particular as they filed from the kitchen, "Oh man, there's a thousand easier ways for kids to land themselves into trouble, but these kids pick an old mine."

— — —

Station 51 was first on scene immediately followed by Engine 36, with Engine 10, pulling up a minute later.

The noticeably large warning sign stood out boldly, hard to miss. 'Private Property Dangerous Mine, Stay out. Stay alive.' Underneath the cautionary title listed the reasons—deadly gases, lack of oxygen, cave-ins, unstable infrastructure due to rotten timbers, and water seepage. If these were not enough reasons to compel one to stay out, there was the possibility of old explosives lying around. Everything rational warned against heading inside; however, dark places were like magnets, an irresistible lure to curious children.

Three bicycles lying on their sides near the partially twisted gate strongly painted a picture.

As the rescuers exited vehicles, they started pulling gear they would need. Two LAPD Officers met briefly with Captain Stanley along with a representative from the rock quarry. Hank motioned everyone to gather round once he finished. The easy, but self-assured manner from the veteran captain, helped to ease nervous tension as he took charge of the scene.

"Engine 36, will assist PD in above ground search, Engine 10, will co-ordinate their search and enter from the rear of A and B shafts. 51 will head in from the front. Here's what we know. A local group of rock hounds spotted three kids, a girl and two boys, hanging around the area. They chased them off telling the not to return. Passing by an hour later the group noticed the kid's bikes near the entrance, and the gate as you see it. Their immediate search turned up nothing. They figured the kids must have gone in, so they contacted us. Could be the kids are off somewhere else, but we cannot take that risk." Hank paused to look at a diagram he held in his hands. "Inside the mine from the front entrance, the shaft extends one hundred feet in, and then steadily descends. At approximately fifty yards, it separates into two shafts, each with its own side tunnel, ventilation airshafts and drainage trenches." He rubbed his chin and looked around at each of the men, "This area of the mine hasn't been used in over a decade so you can imagine the condition it's in. A recent inspection revealed a major cave-in, which partially sealed off the side tunnel in Shaft A. You can bank on the air quality being poor so if the kids are in there…" He let his voice trail off, as he looked to John and Roy, unable to complete the dire thought. "Each of you will carry an HT. I want a radio call-in every ten minutes, volume down. Tread lightly. Keep your voices low. As old as this mineshaft is, vibrations can cause a cave-in. Watch the gauges on your air tanks gentlemen and take periodic air samples. Roy, John," Hank addressed his paramedics, "unless you are forced to treat for major trauma I want the victims treated out here." He looked around. "Be vigilant in there gentlemen, but timely. Your safety and theirs depends on it."

The smell of dank air and the strong odor of musty dirt enveloped them as the donned their air masks at the entrance. Cautiously walking in single file they immediately needed to turn on their halogens for light. Roy led the way and everyone kept to the middle of the old rail track, staying away from the shaky timber lining the sides. The sound of their breathing bounced off the walls, the light from their flashlights creating eerie shadows.

"Careful there's a steep drop coming up," Roy warned.

The near total blackness fled under the powerful lights of their halogens, but all too soon, the greedy darkness reclaimed the area behind them. Four flashlights searched for any sign of the children as 51s crew continued their trek into the bowls of the mine. Rocks and other rubble strewn about the floor made for difficult walking.

Roy lifted the HT and pressed the talk button, "HT 51 to Engine 51. Cap," Roy explained, "the tunnel is beginning to narrow, with the fork up ahead. No sign of the children."

"Copy that Roy."

Breaking a light stick Johnny gently rolled it into the right tunnel where it disappeared into the maw-like opening. Dirt sifted down. He repeated the process in the left. The light illuminating from each stick cast a greenish glow against the bare rocks generating an ethereal, but knowingly dangerous, atmosphere.

"Marco, Chet," Roy said, "head to the right. Johnny and I will take the left."

The four of them separated. Chet and Marco disappeared into the right tunnel. The sound of scurrying along the walls revealed rats.

"Ugh," Chet grimaced.

"I'm with you, pal," Marco concurred. "But, seeing rodents means there's still good air in here."

Chet said grimly, "Let's just hope we find the kids soon." There was no mistaking his tone although his voice sounded distorted from having to speak through his air mask. "I better not see a snake."

"Man, wading through all this standing water is gonna kick up bad air in here." Johnny said as his feet waded through the cold puddles.

While Roy agreed, he chose not to share his opinion. If the children came this way, the air had already been disturbed. The absence of animal life had him concerned.

A little further on the tunnel narrowed and shrank significantly, both men forced to walk stooped over. Johnny stopped suddenly his ear cocked to the side. He reached out to stall his partner. "Hold up Roy. You hear that?"

Both men stood still for a moment straining to listen.

"I don't hear anything," Roy said, muting the HT to gain silence.

Johnny motioned with his hand. "Wait."

Seconds later, a faint muffled cry reached them. Both looked at one another.

Abruptly, dirt rained down on top of them, bouncing off their helmets. It only lasted seconds but created a heavy fine dust cloud, which made for limited vision.

"Clearing the dust from his facemask Roy asked, "Are you okay?"

"We can't get outta here soon enough," said Johnny.

Dirt and small debris fell from the ceiling in periodic waves as they slowly moved forward, listening.

Another thirty feet brought them to a standstill. "Damn," Johnny said.

Caught in the cloudy beams of their flashlights, old timber, rocks, and dirt, gave evidence of an earlier cave-in, completely blocking forward progress. A gap between the sidewall of the tunnel, and the mound of rubble reminded Johnny of a mouse hole.

"There's room for a child to squeeze through." He lifted his facemask. "Kids you in there?" Dirt bounced off his helmet.

"Help!"

Dropping the rope he carried Johnny immediately began moving rocks.

Roy called in, "Cap, we've located at least one of the children. Johnny and I are in Shaft B, approximately ninety-five feet in, but a cave-in has blocked access. Can 10 gain a way in from their location?"

"Negative, the tunnel is completely obstructed further up, and water has pooled thigh-high in the tunnel. Until they can pump out some of the water rescue will have to be initiated from your location."

"Cap space is tight. We won't fit more'n three bodies in here at a time. We're gonna need the port-power, shovels, oxygen, and insulated blankets."

"Received. Gear is on the way."

"Roy, were heading to your location." Chet said over the HT.

Working together, the two firemen stretched the opening.

"Hey kid," Johnny called again, "how many of you came in here?"

"Three of us," a young voice answered, "Amanda fell . . . and Kyle . . . Kyle is . . . I don't know."

"Help is coming. Keep talkin' to me."

"Its dark in here, m-my flashlight w-went dead. I-I'm stuck and t-things keep f-fallin'."

Another shower of rocks peppered both paramedics, this one larger than the first.

"Roy, if we can widen this a little bit more, I bet I can burrow through if I take off my air tank. You can pass it to me when I'm on the other side."

"You have twenty minutes of air left in that tank Johnny. If—"

"The ambient temperature in here can't be above sixty degrees."

Johnny didn't need to spell it out Hypothermia was probable.

"Reluctantly, Roy agreed knowing if there was anyway in they had to take it. With child exposure cases, time became critical. Both struggled to lift a heavy beam of timber. Muscles straining, they managed to slide it out of the way. He shrugged off his air tank handing it to Roy. Their eyes met for a brief second, neither needing to speak, the trust shared between them rock solid. His first attempt sliding through on his back ended in failure. Unwaveringly, Johnny reached up and started unbuckling his coat.

"John."

Johnny had seen the look of caution on Roy more than once. He ignored it as his coat slid from his body.

"Minutes matter. If we don't get to those kids and soon, they won't make it out of here alive. You'll be right behind anyway." Without his coat, his body chilled, adding credibility to his words.

"HT 51, Cap, we've managed to enlarge the opening enough for Johnny and I to crawl through."

"Ten-four Roy. Be careful."

Head first, Johnny forced his way through the narrow opening in a sideways position. He barely fit. His shoulders scraped painfully against protruding debris. He felt like a cork in a bottle. He closed his eyes continuing to inch his way through, the cave-in more extensive then he thought. As he scraped along, loose dirt fell around and on top of him. Behind closed eyes, the image of an earthworm came to mind. The pressure against his stomach was uncomfortable, and he wished he hadn't eaten so much. Eating reminded him of what day it was. _It's Thanksgiving; I don't want to have to tell a mother the worst has happened to her child. Please not today. _A resistance halted forward movement and he opened his eyes automatically; darkness and dirt pressed against him and for an irrational moment he felt completely closed in, buried alive. Reflexively his throat tightened and he found it difficult to breathe, the instinct for self-preservation almost causing him to give up and back out. _Do your job, _his mind scolded. Hastily, his gloved hands gave a forceful push and the resistance buckled; dirt, debris and his body moved forward. Cold air hit his sweat streaked face. His gloved hands sank into an icy puddle. The unexpected shock of wetness, and intense relief had him lunging upward. He realized his folly instantly. "Ow," He complained coughing, dirt showering him as bare his head made contact with the shallow ceiling. Grit filled his mouth and after spitting, he called, "I'm through. Hey kid?"

"Johnny you okay?

"Yeah," he acknowledged swishing the dirt from his hair and rubbing his eyes free of dust. He partially entered the opening again while retrieving the turnout coat Roy shoved as far as he could into the space. "Hey kid?" His ears picked up the sound of running water.

Johnny aimed the flashlight out in front of him, and then swept it to the sides, and finally the ceiling, which, on this side was higher. Water ran in haphazard rivulets, and trickles down the walls forming a little gully of water, which ran down slope. He followed the stream with his light. He could see only as far as his flashlight would allow.

"Water is seeping into the shaft." He made another, more disciplined sweep with his flashlight, the beam revealing a small body.

"Johnny I'm passing you the air tank."

"I located the boy." He squeezed back into the opening, carefully sliding the air bottle toward him, along with his helmet. "Air is thin but breathable." He backed his way out and replaced his helmet.

After a long hesitation Roy told Johnny the bad news, "The opening is too narrow. I don't fit."

He felt his partner's frustration. "I'm not going anywhere; send the blankets as soon as they arrive."

Cautiously he approached the victim stepping around potential hazards. As he surveyed the situation, his concern grew. Lying amidst mine rubble, and covered in dirt, the male youth lay on his stomach with his right arm and shoulder caught between two sturdy planks of timber of varying length. Each flirted near the rim of an open hole in the floor. What caused his urgent concern . . . so did the boy. One misstep could send the child tumbling through the floor with the planks in close pursuit. He focused the light on the lad's face. Dirt stains, mixed with red-blue bruises dotted the side of his face and neck, along with the proof of fresh tears upon pale cheeks. Wet eyelashes glistened and sheltered closed eyes. _You should be home warm and safe. _The sight of such vulnerability seized the rescuer hard in his gut causing physical pain. He called to the boy quietly not wanting to startle him.

Eyes opened, glowing in the gleam of the flashlight. Raising the light so it wouldn't blind the boy the paramedic said, "Hey sport. My name is Johnny, and I'm here to help you." He covered the shivering form with his coat. "You'll be outta here soon. Can ya tell me what hurts?"

"Help Amanda . . . she fell through t-the floor."

Johnny leaned forward slightly the creaky movement in the floor disquieting. Dirt fell through the cracks. He aimed the light into the hole. His eyes swept to the bottom, and froze. Amanda, lying at least eight feet below him, half-submerged in dirty water was shivering continuously. In a semi-seated position her head moved restlessly back and forth. It leaned against the side of the elongated enclosure.

"Amanda can you hear me?"

Her head moved toward his voice and her eyes opened and closed. Her small body continued to shudder, "I'm c- cold, M-Mommy."

A strong sense of protectiveness emerged at the same time a bitter taste filled his mouth. He had no way to aid her at this time. The sight of her, and his own helplessness left him angry. He couldn't afford the distraction so he buried it.

"Amanda, honey, open your eyes." When she did not act in response, he forced his attention back to the boy. He assessed how he could remove him safely from his wooden prison, "What's your name?"

"Billy M-Mitchell."

"Billy, I'm going to slide this face mask close to you so you can breathe some oxygen. How old are you?"

"I'm twelve and Amanda is t-ten."

Johnny kept his voice low and calm. "I know your arm is hurting Billy, but do you have pain anywhere else?"

"My arm d-doesn't hurt anymore 'cause it's n-numb." Billy's answer had Johnny frowning.

"Can you wiggle your fingers and toes Billy?"

"I'm n-not sure about my fingers, but I can w-wiggle my toes, they feel kinda tingly." Fresh tears dripped. "I'm s-scared. Is Amanda gonna die?"

"Billy you need to stay calm. We will do everything we can for all of you. Can ya tell me where Kyle is?"

"I don't know." The boy sniffled, "When the stuff f-fell in on us, he tried to find a w-way out. I t-think something must've happened 'cause he's been gone a long time."

"Gage, what's the situation?"

He picked up the HT. "Cap, we have two children here, both in need of extrication. The girl has fallen through the floor into a sub-trench. She's down about eight feet. The trench has at least three feet of standing water, which has her submerged up to her waist." He paused to catch his breath. "I have no way of accessing her injuries at this time; there is no safe way to get to her without help." He couldn't mask his frustration. "Shock and acute Hypothermia are probable. The boy is in better shape physically with beginning signs of exposure. His right arm is pinned by two pieces of timber resting close to the floor's opening. He is in danger of falling into the trench, and I'm worried too much weight may collapse the rest of the floor. We'll need to brace the area before attempting to free him. The location of the third victim is unknown."

Captain Stanley's tone held audible concern. "What's the oxygen level like?"

"Thin. I'd feel better with some air of my own."

"Hang tight, it should be there at anytime."

The HT sounded again. He could hear shovels excavating the debris as Roy spoke, "Blankets and oxygen are coming through."

Speaking into the black box, Johnny said, "I need a coat and rope."

He knelt by Billy and took in a small breath of oxygen from the face-mask. Johnny inspected the tanks air gauge. It registered ten more minutes before the alarm would sound. As he stood, a buzzing filled his head. He walked over to the opening and retrieved the needed items.

Leaving his turnout coat on the boy, he covered the shivering body with blankets. Insulating Billy from the cold ground made perfect sense but it wasn't an option at this time. He placed a nasal cannula in the boy's nostrils keeping the heavy oxygen tank out of Billy's immediate vicinity, not wanting to compromise the unstable floor. Humidified air would have been better for the boy. As soon as they reached the ambulance, he would receive it.

"Amanda's stopped crying," Billy told Johnny.

Bathing Amanda's small frame in the flashlight's beam he noted her shivering began to decrease. _What ever made you come in here?_

Johnny searched around for anything he could anchor a line to. Nothing materialized. _Come on_. He urged his crew-mates. He glanced down at his watch surprise time had not advanced much, less then fifteen minutes. He would have sworn hours passed. He watched the second hand make a complete circuit around the dial, before he looked away.

Billy's eyes locked on him. "Are we g-gonna die in here?"

"No, Billy, help will be here any minute." Johnny reassured him, taking his pulse. The boys pulse was elevated along with his respiration, and his shivering increased despite the covering of his coat and blankets. He thought of the third victim, still needing to be located. A shower of fine dust fell from the ceiling, followed by clumps of dirt. A noise near the mound of debris had Johnny zeroing in with the flashlight. Dirt and rocks fell away. A pair of gloved hands, followed by a helmeted body crawled into the tunnel.

Johnny closed his eyes in relief.

— — —

Chet knelt by the youngster's side.

"Billy, my name is Chet, and I will be staying with you until you reach the ambulance."

Becoming agitated, Billy cried, "Please I don't want to leave. You still haven't found Kyle."

Billy's fear palpable, Chet's voice softened as he tried to allay the boy's fear. "Listen Billy, this is a bummer I know. We are searching for your friend, and Amanda will be at the hospital in no time. Besides, when you arrive at Rampart your mother and father will be waiting."

Tears flowing, Billy suddenly clutched Chet wearing a look of absolute remorse. "It's all my fault."

Chet swallow hard. "Easy does it little man," the Irishman cautioned. "Thing's are gonna work out, you'll see."

"You don't understand! Amanda is my sister, and Kyle isn't just a friend, he's my cousin. I dared my sister into coming in here. She didn't want to. I called her a big fat baby! I made her come in here. It is my fault. My d-dad is gonna s-skin me alive."

"Trust me Billy, he won't. He'll be grateful you weren't hurt badly." Lifting the HT to his mouth, he spoke, "HT 51, to Engine 51, Cap first child is ready for transport."

"Ten-four."

Chet motioned one of 10s men to help lift the stokes. Four handlers were ideal on a stokes but the narrow confined area allowed for only two. As he made his way toward daylight and fresh air once more, Chet couldn't help worry for the child still missing. Would they find him alive? He recalled faces from previous rescue attempts; those who didn't make it. He looked down at Billy and warmth spread through him. This was a save. He rejoiced in it.

— — —

After replacing his oxygen and sliding on a turncoat, Johnny and Marco, carrying a stokes between them, headed further up the tunnel. Trey Cabrini, one of station 10's crew followed behind. Johnny left Roy preparing to head into the trench after the girl.

As he walked, the paramedic fretted. They had to find Kyle soon or the search would turn into a recovery. The levels of foul air were rising. The harmful gases tended to stay lower to the floor or settle into the water. When disturbed, the gas rose. Anyone walking through the area, unprotected would breathe in the harmful air and over time become disoriented, sick or worse.

"He's gotta be somewhere close." Cold water sloshed into his already soaked shoes sending the chill racing up his legs. Water covered large sections of the floor. The deeper into the shaft they went, the worse the water situation became. The level of contaminated air rose considerably. As they searched, he monitored the constant chatter going back and forth over the HT.

Engine 36 released from the scene was once again available. Squad 16 arrived to assist with patient care. Roy was working on the girl with Derek Cooper, one of squad 16's paramedics. Billy was on his way to the ambulance, and Engine 10s crew with the exception of Trey, switched from being rescuers to support personnel. As his light swept the gloomy area, the beam bounced off the reflective side of a sneaker. Johnny grabbed the HT and called in their location.

The bright glare of the flashlight had no affect on the boy. Johnny heart fluttered and raced around in his chest.

"Kyle?" _Please don't let him be gone._

Kyle, sat with his back against the wall of the tunnel, oblivious to the water he was sitting in, or the water running down the wall. The boy's eyes were open, and staring straight ahead. He mimicked the stone he sat against, lifeless. Johnny feared he was looking at a corpse, and with a heavy heart leaned over to check for a pulse at the neck.

Unexpectedly, Kyle shouted, "No! Don't touch me." Startled Johnny staggered back losing his balance. He sat down with a hard thump. Water splashed and soaked through his clothing, the cold shock to his system helped him stay focused.

"Hold him Marco! Trey! Don't let him exert himself," Johnny said regaining his feet.

"We're here to help you. Don't fight me, Kyle," Marco said trying to keep the boy from flailing around, but needing to be gentle at the same time. Trey on once side, and Marco on the other held him at the shoulders. All at once, the fight left him. Docile he folded into Marco's arms.

"Kyle can you understand me?" Johnny asked.

Though Kyle spoke, his whispered words were confused and hard to understand. There was no telling how long the boy lay exposed on the chilly floor. The teen was cold; his respiration slow, along with his pulse. Lack of shivering, along with his pale appearance, made clear he was in a moderate state of Hypothermia. They needed to begin re-warming. Finding no obvious injury on the boy, Johnny suspected bad air had downed him originally. With Trey and Marco's help, they lifted the stuporous adolescent keeping him as level as possible. They placed him gently into an insulated plastic and blanket lined stokes their movements smooth. Johnny gently cut and removed the boy's wet clothing and wrapped Kyle in dry insulated blankets. Marco placed a nonrebreather mask, which circulated warm humidified oxygen, brought from the ambulance, into Kyle's lungs. His head and neck was further insulated from further heat loss.

"Cap, we're on our way out."

"Ten-four."

— — —

Slowly descending into the pit, Roy heard the radio communication over the HT between Captain Stanley and Johnny.

"Hold up."He stopped descending. He looked for any hazards that might impede his rescue effort. "Alright lower me all the way down."

Mike held his rope. He began moving again. The shock of the cold water as his feet sank beneath the surface caused his muscles to involuntarily tighten, and he gasped aloud. His feet touched bottom, the water above knee level. He was standing on something, which kept him from sinking further into the water. He quickly set to work ignoring his own discomfort. "She has a fractured right femur. Also there is tenderness in the left lateral ribcage." He placed her in C-Collar and padded her neck with rolled towels. Another thirty seconds passed while Mike and one of 10's crew secured the lines to the stokes. The stokes was lowered and suspended as close to Roy as possible. He slid a short board under her body for support and placed her into the stokes. Manning the ropes both men easily lifted her from her watery tomb-like environment, being sure to keep the ropes even so the stretcher stayed in a horizontal position. Once brought up, Derek wrapped her in blankets, while Roy climbed up out of the trench.

"We're on our way out, Cap."

"Ten-four, Roy."

Her treatment commenced once in the heated ambulance. A policewoman present, helped cut the clothing from the girl. Core and external re-warming became paramount to her recovery. The concern Roy had was the severity of her Hypothermia combined with the shock from her injuries. They were past the stage of passive re-warming and would have to concentrate on core re-warming, which meant, heated oxygen, warm IV fluids, and emergency room care.

Rampart ordered rapid transport. EKG monitoring, warm supplemental oxygen applied at 15 liters, and a warmed IV of Normal Saline, to be applied en route.

Outside, standing near the entrance, watching the third and final ambulance take off, Hank bowed his head. The simple gesture gave a mental image of a man who deeply cared. He stood this way a moment giving thanks they recovered all three children alive.

— — —

"Billy is going to be released tomorrow, but Amanda and Kyle have to stay here a few days to be sure there aren't any complications from the Hypothermia. You fireman are all angels," Mrs. Mitchell said giving Roy a hug. Johnny smiled weakly his hands wrapped around a warm cup of coffee. He could see Roy was uncomfortable. His partner always squirmed when given lavish praise.

Roy said, "We are just doing our job ma'am."

"I wouldn't classify what you do as just a job. It's much more than that, young man."

Roy agreed in his gentlemanly way, "Yes ma'am."

— — —

Liz asked Lisa to write what Thanksgiving meant to her. After reading what her daughter had written, she decided she wanted him to have it. Johnny waited until today to open the letter. He sat in his locker looking down at the words, amazed how his little sister had altered his life.

What I am Thankful For

By: Lisa Grace Gage

**T **- Is for Thanksgiving and giving thanks for everything, we have.

**H **- Harvest-time, and my home.

**A **- Is for all my blessings, I think I am lucky.

**N **- Is for the first Native-Americans who helped the Pilgrims.

**K **- Is for the kids who are my friends.

**S** - Southern California where my brother lives.

**G **- Is for God, and how great and good He is.

**I **- I pray for my brother at night before I go to bed.

**V **- Visiting my brother in December.

**I **- I love to talk over the phone.

**N **- Is for nice neighbors, the Fosters' and a new friend named Jennifer.

**G **- Is for Grandpa and Grandma in Colorado.

_Dear God_

_My Mother wanted me to write a letter thanking you for all the wonderful things I have been given this year. __I wrote you a poem instead. _

_What I am most thankful for God, is Johnny coming home. He is special because he helps people all the time in his job._

_Mostly though, I want to thank you for helping Johnny, and Daddy at least talk again. Daddy's smile is back. _

_I know this is a thank you letter but if you are not to busy please bless Johnny because his job is dangerous._

_Sincerely,_

_Lisa Gage_

He folded the letter and tucked it into his wallet wearing a smile.

"Hey Gage, you have a phone call."

"Thanks Chet."

He picked up the phone in the dorm.

His sister young voice bubbled over the phone. "Happy Thanksgiving Johnny!"

He pictured the three faces of the children they rescued and a feeling of total content rushed through him. Thanksgiving to him meant, living.

With heartfelt warmth he replied, "Happy Thanksgiving to you too Snap Dragon."


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with 'em._

Forgiveness Factor

Written by: Kianda

Chapter Seven

* * *

Dixie watched the approach of station 51's paramedics from where she sat at the nurse's station, writing in her daily log.

"Morning Dixie," both men greeted.

"Morning boys," she said, putting down her pen. "I hope you had a relaxing day off. I heard about the mine rescue; pretty hairy stuff."

"It isn't something I'd care to repeat anytime soon," Johnny admitted. "I didn't warm up for two days."

Roy placed the HT on the counter. "It comes with the job."

Dixie leaned with her elbow on the counter supporting her chin with her hand. "Let me guess, somebody has to do it right?"

"Something like that," Roy agreed.

She mentally shook her head. These guys crawled into more harrowing places than any nightmare could invent, but would tell you afterward they were only doing a job.

She gave them a smile, straightened and said, "What can I get you boys this morning?"

Roy began rambling off a list of needed supplies.

She went to the glass enclosed cabinet were the supplies were kept.

"Johnny, before you leave the hospital, Kel wants you to stop by his office."

"Me?" Eyebrows raised, he aimed a questioning glance at Roy.

"Um, hum, that's what he said."

"Do you know what he wants to see me about, Dix?"

"Haven't a clue, why?"

He shrugged. "Thought you might know."

Perceiving a mood change, she tried easing his tension. "It can't be serious Johnny. Kel wasn't growling when he relayed the message."

"I'm in the clear then," he said, grin showing. "Roy, while you grab the supplies I'll see what Brackett wants."

"Yep."

"Thanks Dixie."

"Sure Johnny." She watched him walk off.

Giving Roy her attention she said, "What were the last couple of supplies you mentioned?"

Roy told her and she delved into the cabinet.

The loudspeaker echoed, _"Dr. Erickson, call your service."_

Making polite conversation he asked, "How was your Thanksgiving, Dixie?"

She kept her eyes averted as she expertly dodged the question. "Mostly quiet, nothing as exciting as yours."

He understood her non-answer. Dixie seldom chatted up her personal life.

"How are the three children this morning?"

Dark lashes swept upwards as she answered, "The Mitchell boy went home yesterday; his sister is doing well, her fracture a simple one. She will be moving to the ward today. Their cousin Kyle has spiked a temperature and is showing signs of an upper respiratory infection. He will have to remain in the ICU for a while longer."

He would have thought Amanda with her extended submersion in cold-water, along with her injury, would be the one to suffer prolonged medical complications.

Dixie finished placing the items they needed on the counter.

_"Dr. Early you're wanted in radiology."_

Two hospital orderlies came in from the ambulance bay wheeling a stretcher. A thirty-something male, trauma to the head, lay moaning on the gurney. Right behind them on another gurney, led by two ambulance attendants, laid a female in her late twenties her left arm wrapped in bandages, with red peeking through.

One of the orderlies told the ER nurse, "A single vehicle accident; car versus telephone pole."

"Take him to one," she directed the attendants while stepping around Roy. "Take her to three." She glanced down the hall. She flagged one of her nurses. "Cheryl, Dr. Morton will need you in treatment three."

"Right away, Miss McCall."

Dixie reached for the phone.

Gathering the supplies into his arms Roy said, "Catch ya later Dixie." He went after his partner.

— — —

Johnny stared at the simple nameplate, which marked Brackett's inner sanctum. He had one hand raised to knock, and hesitated. It wasn't often he was called to this office. The few times he had left a negative impression on his psyche.

"Good morning, Johnny." A blond-haired nurse sauntered by.

"Mornin' Alice," he said teasingly. "When are you gonna agree to go out with me?"

"Not anytime soon, playboy," She teased, walking on.

This game went on between the two of them. One day she would agree to go out with him. Appreciatively his eyes followed her down the hall. Once she was out of sight, his fingers rapped on the door.

"Come in."

Neck and shoulder muscles squeezed together involuntarily at the sound of the deep voice. He opened the door and poked his head in. "You wanted to see me Dr. Brackett?"

"Good morning, John." The head of the ER department sized up the young paramedic and hid a knowing smile. "How are you feeling? No ill effects from the mine?"

Walking fully into the room Johnny said, "None, after I warmed up."

"Good." Kel opened a desk drawer and reached inside. He pulled out a sealed envelope and held it out to him. "This was left for you by Kyle Young's parents."

Johnny found he could breathe again as he accepted the envelope. Inscribed on the front in big bold lettering was his name.

"The Young's wanted to thank you and the others in person, but weren't sure when they would have the opportunity."

"How are the kids doing?" He asked.

"They are all extremely fortunate," Kel said. "Billy Mitchell was released yesterday; His sister Amanda is responding very well, The Young boy is taking—" Brackett stopped speaking interrupted by the ringing phone. "Pardon me."

Roy tapped on the door. "Johnny? You ready?"

"Yeah, I'm just about done."

"I'll be right there," Kel said, hanging up the phone.

"Excuse me gentlemen—I'm needed on the floor."

Johnny held up the letter. "Thanks Doctor Brackett."

Kel walked into the hallway with the pair addressing Johnny, "That wasn't so bad was it?" He looked serious for only a moment before breaking into a smile.

Johnny's face turned three shades of red.

"What was that about?" Roy asked.

Playing mute, the paramedic walked on.

The ride back to the station gave Johnny the opportunity to read the letter. A warm sensation started in his chest and moved outward enveloping him in good will. He received a few thank you letters over the years from grateful victims, but this one had to be the most eloquently written, and heart touchingly real expression of thankfulness he ever received. He basked in the aftermath of the kind words. Roy glanced over to his silent passenger and saw his facial expression—one of pride.

Roy prudently kept quiet_. It's good to be appreciated junior. Most people want us in an emergency, but fail to remember us afterward._

— — —

Holiday marketing found its way into the mass media. With only a couple of weeks left until Christmas, seen in TV commercials, written in bold type print in the newspaper, or enthusiastically delivered in radio advertisements—the perfect gift waited for that '_special someone'_.

Yuletide decorations from a few lawn ornaments to lavishly decorated houses, ablaze with colorful lights of the season, set the holiday scene. Christmas wreaths hung on telephone pole. Street lamps wrapped in red and white peppermint stripe spirals welcomed you into the business district. A twenty-eight foot Fraser fir, trimmed with blinking lights and large glass ball ornaments, beckoned visitors to the shopping district.

_Have yourself a merry little Christmas . . ._Johnny whistled along with the tune. He had the day off and decided to knock off his holiday shopping. There were extra people added to his list. His sister would be easy; he picked jewelry for her. He decided on Van Cleef & Arpels debut perfume called, 'First', for his stepmother. A bit pricey but seeing it advertised, he decided the name fit the situation. After all, the _first_ holiday gathering they would celebrate together as a family needed something special to mark the occasion. He didn't know what to do for his father.

A dark shadow of nostalgia had his good mood on the run. The last Christmas celebrated with his father was the year before his mother's death. With her passing, the birthday of Jesus stopped being a holiday in the Gage home. His father erased any reminder of Christmas from the house. Not a single decoration remained.

He tried to commemorate the special day a year after his mother's death. He wished his father a Merry Christmas and handed him a small gift. The reaction from his father was one of cold anger. Christmas was a myth, he told him cruelly, for if it were real his mother would still be alive. His gift rejected, he felt the sting of the belt as a reminder not to do it again. He never did try it in a public display, though every Christmas Eve in the solitude of his room; he drew a picture of a Christmas tree complete with decorations. He would hold a picture of his mother in his hands and at midnight wish her a Merry Christmas.

Confiding to his childhood friend his father no longer believe in Christmas, Shannon relayed this news to her father. The two estranged friends exchanged words between them. The discussion hadn't lasted long, but thereafter, he spent Christmas at the Foster ranch. When he went to live with his aunt, Johnny came to understand what happened. Kevin, his aunt told him, refusing to allow the son of his former friend to be alone on such a beautiful and meaningful holiday, insisted he spend the day with them. Just because his father chose to be miserable didn't mean the son should be.

The melancholy mood he slipped into lifted once he spied the children waiting to talk with Santa Claus. Their bright hopeful eyes and excited faces, reminded him of his sister and they day she first laid eyes on him.

He continued traversing the shopping district his mood more festive. It took him a better part of the day to finish and his father was the last on the list. He didn't necessarily want to buy anything but felt obligated too out of a sense of politeness. His sister would find it strange if he left their father out, and he did not wish to cause her worry. He struggled with what to buy. He settled on something safe, a book. Shopping complete and weighed down with his purchases, he passed through the entrance. A familiar female voice hailed him from a crowd of people.

"Hello Mr. Gage, it's good to see you."

"Hello Mrs. Clayton," he said respectfully. "How have you been?"

No one seemed to mind the two were blocking a set of doors, and standing in the middle of the traffic lane forcing everyone to walk around them, but Johnny did. He stepped off to the side bringing Margery with him.

"I'm well, thank you," she said. Her smiled transformed her face.

This was the first time Johnny noticed a genuine smile. When he had seen her last she looked worn down and ragged, but no longer. The deep worry lines which before had furrowed her forehead were no longer the dominate feature. Margery had altered her long hairstyle in favor of one of the newer shorter cuts, and she had lightened it to a softer shade of brown. Wearing stylish clothing and just the right amount of make-up, added youthful vigor to her appearance. Undeniably, Margery exuded confidence. He saw it her eyes—a certain spark that up until this point had been absent. It was optimism.

"Ryan tells me you're expecting family this holiday?

He shook his head and set his numerous shopping bags down on the ground.

"I'm doing some shopping myself. I wanted to get everything finished before Rodger . . ." her voice tapered off and she veiled her expression. Her eyes shifted to the ground.

Johnny knew what caused the sudden change. Rodger's expected release date from MCJ was days away. Moved by her expression, identical to the one Ryan wore during their get-together last week offered, "If there is anything—?"

She didn't let him finish. "I appreciate it, really, but I'm glad the separation is over and he's coming home. For Ryan's sake I'm hopeful Rodger's imprisonment will have given him time to . . . appreciate what he has. I trust the message has gotten through that the choices he made caused all of this. Ryan is my main concern. His lack of warmth toward his father has me worried. I thought by now he would be more open to his father's returning home."

While not fully confident in her tone, Margery displayed willingness to change, and he admired her for it. The path of self-analyzing took courage and commitment. Though nature healed physical bruises in a relatively short period, the same didn't apply for bruises of the soul. Deeply embedded, and layered within emotional scar tissue, these hurts lingered until the therapeutic touch of time helped them to fade.

Sometimes they never faded.

"Ryan is young. He needs time." Johnny said, confidently.

"It is important for the court to see I am trying to better myself, and I'm hoping Rodger will too. Our son needs balanced people in his life—and he respects you. Ryan takes away so much from your visits with him. You will continue to work with him won't you?"

The way her voice stressed certain words caused Johnny to consider what she didn't say. Rodger wouldn't like it, but it shouldn't stop him from continuing. Johnny regarded Margery with a steady gaze of new respect.

"I will help Ryan as long as he needs me too."

"You're a good person, Mr. Gage. Thank you." She smiled again and stepped near the automatic doors, which opened. "Have a Merry Christmas." She entered closely followed by other shoppers.

Johnny wondered if this new Margery would be able to withstand her husbands return.

— — —

The alarm clocks beeping signaled it was time to rise, though he had lain sleepless for hours. Jolted awake from a nightmare Johnny couldn't remember the details of . . . sleep remained elusive for the rest of the night. His arm snaked out, and he pressed the button to silence the electronic messenger.

It was pouring during his drive in to work. The gray clouds laden with precipitation, and the below normal temperature, suited Johnny's mood.

"Aren't you a soggy mess." His partner greeted as he stepped into the locker room. "Why are you all—"

"You look like something the beach churned up and spit out," Chet interrupted.

"Zip it," the drowned rat ordered as he began to remove his wet clothing.

"What happened?" Roy tried again, sending Chet a clear signal to stop talking. "Did you have car trouble?"

"Yeah, but not mine. I stopped to help a stranded motorist on my way in."

"Oh, I bet this 'motorist' happened to be young, female, and pretty, huh Gage?"

"Man, you would think that. She happened to be a sweet old lady who needed help after her car stalled."

"You should have just let CHIP handle it. That's what they get paid to do, serve and protect."

"Unlike you Kelly, it just so happens, I have a heart and it beats _warm_ blood."

As the words registered, Chet's eyes opened a little wider. He looked to the senior paramedic. "Whoa, Roy, do something. We gotta work with him all day." He closed his locker and left the room, leaving them alone.

Roy didn't feel sorry for Chet but he did want to know what was bugging his friend. Insulting with spiteful intent wasn't Johnny at all. "What's the problem?"

Throwing his wet clothes forcibly into the locker, he snatched his uniform shirt from the hanger. The hanger rebounded, struck the back of the locker, dislodged, and fell to the floor. He stood staring at the shirt in his hands making no move to put it on.

"Nothing."

"Partner with you . . . nothing means something. Get it off your chest."

Giving in and slowly putting on his shirt Johnny confided, "I ran into Margery Clayton yesterday afternoon."

"Hum."

Roy's vague response prompted further explanation. "You wouldn't believe the change in her Roy. She looks great."

Roy leaned against the wall his posture relaxed. "You're upset because Margery looks great?"

Johnny shook his head. "Clayton is getting out in a few days. I'm afraid the progress Margery has made will be sucked from her once he's back home."

Gently, Roy said, "sounds as if she got to you. Don't allow yourself to become emotionally invested Johnny."

"She's at a fragile place Roy. She needs time to become comfortable with her newfound confidence. She won't get it with Clayton around."

"She has her sister and brother-in-law to help her. She's also a grown woman who can make decisions for herself." Roy tread lightly not wanting Johnny to perceive this as a lecture. "It sounds as if the lines are becoming blurred here, junior."

Buckling his pants Johnny said, "She's Ryan's mother, and she's trying to change for her son's sake."

"Roll call in one minute," Mike warned them from the door.

"Be careful where you go with this," Roy advised. "You don't want to become a pawn in someone else's domestic troubles."

_Roy__ doubts my objectivity_. "I'm not the pawn Roy, Ryan is."

"What is it you hope to accomplish?"

Pensive, Johnny remained quiet. Roy sensed the conversation was over.

When his partner stooped to tie his shoes, he confirmed it. "Let's table this conversation for another time."

The air of tension surrounding John didn't escape Hanks notice as his men lined up. He made a mental note to keep an eye on that.

"We have the scheduled holiday fire prevention demonstration at the training center this morning, rain or shine," he reminded his men. "Roy, Johnny, you have a CPR demonstration at the VFW for the ladies auxiliary, at eleven o'clock. There are area businesses we need to inspect for extinguisher compliance; we'll start on them after lunch today. Mike, you have kitchen duty, Marco, John . . ."

— — —

The rain let up by the time the engine pulled into the training center for the demonstration. A Christmas tree complete with lights and decorations, confined within an enclosed fireproof container stood in a closed off section of the parking area. A good-sized crowd was present despite the overcast skies and threat of new rain.

Captain Stanley addressed the crowd for a few minutes before giving the go ahead for the demonstration.

The intense heat, smoke, and flames caused gasps of disbelief and exclamations of horrid surprise. Hank signaled Chet to come in, hose hand, to douse the flames.

"You just witnessed how quickly a tree can be engulfed in flames," Hank said. "This was not meant to scare you into going home and chucking your tree." Nervous laughter broke the tension. "Tragedy like this is preventable," He instructed, "if you take a few extra steps with your initial tree setup. Inspect your string of lights for frayed wires, bare spots, insulation gaps, and broken or cracked sockets. Never overload your electrical outlets with more than three linked light strands."

Hank looked around at the sea of intent faces. "Keep your tree well away from a heat source, such as a fireplace, or heating vent. He picked up a branch cut from the tree and placed near a heat lamp. "A tree can dry out quickly. This demonstrates what a few days near a constant heat source can do." He ran his hands lightly over the needles. They fell to the ground. "Remember too, real candles are a direct heat source and a fire danger. Never place lit candles on your tree."

Someone asked, "This is the first year we have a live tree. How often should it be watered?"

"Keep your tree well hydrated by leaving the tree stand full of water at all times and remember, turn off your Christmas tree lighting when gone from the home. Artificial trees should have the recommended fire retardant label. Finally," he said, picking up a home smoke detector, "If the unthinkable should happen, having a working smoke alarm on every level of your home will save lives. Supply them with fresh batteries and be sure to test them monthly. This is also a good time to practice your home's fire evacuation plan. As you just observed, it took less then sixty seconds for the tree to burn. This would have started a major fire and filled your home with deadly gases . . ."

— — —

The squad backed into the station. Water dripped on the bay floor from the wet squad. It was raining again. The CPR session went well, the ladies eager to learn the life saving technique.

As Johnny stepped out Mike said, "Hey, John, you have a visitor in the kitchen." He continued to cross the bay on his way to the latrine.

Johnny's mood took an upturn when he when he saw who sat at the table.

"Hello Mrs. Butler. What brings you here?"

"John," Hank said, "Mrs. Butler has been entertaining us with your charitable act this morning."

"Yes indeed. I was telling your friends how kind you were to stop to help an old woman in the pouring rain. As everyone whizzed by in such a hurry ignoring me, I began to wonder if there were any caring people left in California. But then you stopped to be of assistance. What a dear you were to get my car started again in such devilish weather."

"I'm glad I was able to lend a hand Mrs. Butler." His eyes moved to Chet giving him a self-satisfied gleam.

"Oh please call me Fannie; Mrs. Butler sounds too formal." The elder woman reached out and slid a large container further onto the table. "I brought you boys something I thought you would enjoy. I bake plenty this time of year."

She revealed what was in the sealed container. Two large golden brown—baked to perfection—loaves of bread. Johnny inhaled the one-of-a-kind aroma, closing his eyes in appreciation. When he opened them, he realized he wasn't alone. "They're still warm if you want to try a slice." She invited.

"There is nothing like the smell or taste of freshly baked bread on a rainy day to cheer you up," Johnny said happily, going to retrieve a knife. Before he had a chance to open the drawer, the klaxon went off. Groans accompanied the sound.

"_Station 51, Station 16, Engine 25, Battalion 7, Structure fire, 1908 Ridgeway Blvd . . ." _

Captain Stanley said over the dispatcher's monotone, "We have to go Fannie." Guiding her to the door. "We appreciate the bread, and have Merry Christmas."

He stepped out in time to hear Stoker acknowledge the call. "Station 51 KMG-365."

— — —

In the prison consultation room, Rodger sat alone . . . waiting. Hands drummed a random rhythm on the tabletop. The plain room that held a small square table with two chairs, a windowless door, and a buzzer key pad, wasn't new to him. Lawyers, feds, probation and parole officer's alike, counseled clients in here.

So he sat . . . waiting.

Restless feet joined with the tapping of fingers. He looked down at his ugly prison jumpsuit. The color was a hideously loud orange. Seven more days and he wouldn't have to wear it. Rodger savored the feeling. No more guards telling him what to do or how to do it. He would be free to come and go as he pleased, and he meant to take full advantage of it. Even though Margery had chosen to ignore him these few months, she would be at the house. His wife was a timid little mouse, much too fearful to stand on her own; she wouldn't leave him. He smiled in satisfaction.

A short man in a gray suit, carrying a briefcase, passed through the door.

_It's about time._

"Mr. Clayton, my name is Hector Morris."

Rodger ignored Morris's outstretched hand. Hector withdrew his hand, placing the briefcase on the table and opened it.

"This is just a preliminary meeting. Assigned as your probation officer I'm here to help in anyway you may need assistance, and be sure you are clear on the legal issues."

"Great." Rodger sounded irritated, his foot tapping harder under the table.

"It is my job to supervise your progress. I have thoroughly gone over your case file, and held interviews with your family members who have shared their feelings in this matter."

"I can imagine," he said sourly.

Hector jotted down notes in a legal sized pad and then got down to business.

"You will report to me once a month for the next three years under the terms of your probation. By court mandate you must attend regular Parent Anonymous and spousal abuse counseling, with proof of attendance. In addition, as part of your DUI and child endangerment charge, you are required to attend a DUI and Risk Reduction class. You are under a court directive to serve community service hours, of which a list will be set up for you to follow."

Rodger's voice held an edge to it when he asked, "I know this already. What about my son?"

Hector reached into the case and withdrew a large expandable folder with neatly tabbed sections. He went directly to a blue tabbed section and inspected each page until he found what he was looking for.

Without making eye contact with his client he began, "I'll explain the legalese in simplest terms." Hector kept his voice low and impartial. "You lost custody of your son. The male child no longer resides at your residence, but at the home of his legal guardian. You have restricted access." He thumbed through a couple of pages and halted. "You have visitation rights once a week for an hour, the day and time not yet set up. If you do not show for your appointment hour, you will miss it until the following week." He flipped more pages. "During visitation, one of the legal guardians will be present in the room with you. Under no circumstances, and lets be clear on this, are you to attempt to make physical contact with your son without prior authorization from his legal guardians. You may not take him anywhere in state without express permission and one of his guardians accompanying you. There will be no out of state travel. If you do attempt to move him, it will be considered a violation of your probation and you will be arrested on charges of kidnapping, which depending on it being a state felony or a federal offense—can have you sent away for a long time."

Hector noted the dark scowl on Rodger's face quickly masked.

"How long do I have to put up with this?"

The way Clayton asked the question struck a nerve with the PO. He answered directly. "For as long as the court deems necessary. This isn't some cupcake walk. According to your file, you have caused bodily harm to both your wife and son. Until the courts see an improvement in your aggressive and reckless behavior, Mr. Clayton, the court won't side in your favor." Hector closed the folder and placed it back in the briefcase. He trained his eyes on the man sitting before him. "Mr. Clayton, I am going to be blunt. If you hope to regain custody of your son, you must prove you are willing to abide by, and participate in, the courts guidelines. Do you understand what I've explained to you?" He received a small nod and continued, "In view of the fact that this is the first time you have been incarcerated, and unfamiliar with the law, I must inform you if you break the terms of your probation, arrest is almost certain."

Rodger leaned toward the man seated across from him his voice silky smooth. "Is this supposed to frighten me into being a good citizen?"

Unimpressed by his behavior, Morris said, "The choice whether you live within the law is up to you. My job is to inform you of the facts and to assist you in your rehabilitation."

"Your job is to be my court appointed watchdog, I don't have to like it—or you."

"No you don't Mr. Clayton, but I warn you I wield the pen and write any final recommendations to the court."

This left Rodger silent, and Hector continued in the same bland voice, "You are being processed out in few days. You are to report to my office the first Tuesday of every month by 11:00 am. It is important you secure employment. I will help you in this endeavor. Once you secure employment, I will of course change the appointment time. Everything we've discussed here will be in writing and handed to you upon your release."

"Can't wait," Rodger said.

The court appointed officer, gave Rodger a raptor-like stare, which had the desired affect on the hard-nose man. He squirmed. "Mr. Clayton, do you have any questions?

"No."

"We will speak again before your release."

Hector attempted to shake hands. As before, Rodger snubbed the overture.

If the man continued to have this kind of attitude, Morris thought, he didn't hold out hope for him. He had seen a number of Clayton's type pass through his office. Out of them, one managed to straighten up; the others were back inside.

— — —

This was the day.

Ryan fretted in silence. Today his father would get out of jail. Instead of being excited, Ryan was afraid for his mother. When he asked if his mother would be the one bringing his dad home, his aunt told him his uncle Max would be going instead. His aunt also informed him she had the day off, he didn't have to go to school, and she invited his mother to spend the morning with them.

His aunt always knew just what to do.

The TV was on showing the Price is Right. He got up and turned down the volume. His aunt was in the kitchen making coffee and hot chocolate. His mother seated next to him on the couch, watched him. He gave her a sad smile. She hadn't missed a single visit, and the eleven-year old wondered uncertainly if this would change now that his father was returning home. His young mind hoped his father would change, but even with a six-month absence his father's nasty words, yelling, and the car accident were still fresh.

"What is it sweetie," his mother asked.

The words came out in a rush. "I'm scared things are gonna change with Dad being home. That you're gonna change."

"How honey?"

"You'll turn sad again."

"Ryan I know you're anxious, but we have to give your dad a chance. Your father made a mistake and he paid for it. I know he loves you."

"Yeah right," he said sullenly plucking at the couch with his fingers. "He's lying if he told you he's sorry. He's never acts like he's sorry for anything."

Margery put her arm around him and gathered him close. "I'm sorry for both of us then. I know this is confusing to you but it will be okay. I promise."

Ryan squeezed his mother tight not sure about anything.

— — —

Ushered down the hall by a prison guard, Rodger couldn't wait to be outside. Six months ago, he entered. Today he was walking out a free man.

As he passed dozens of prison cells, the inmates from within, some three to a cell, watched him go in brooding silence. There were no words of encouragement.

At the processing desk, the supervisor handed Rodger a manila envelope, which bulged in the middle.

"Check the contents to be sure everything is accounted for."

Rodger snatched up the envelope and unsealed it, shaking its contents onto the counter while the officer looked on.

A wristwatch, his wallet with forty bucks minus his driver's license, and a gold chain fell onto the counter.

"It's all here," Rodger said, picking up the watch and placing it on his left wrist. He shoved the wallet into his back jean pocket and placed the gold chain around his neck.

"Shoving a document on the counter the supervisor stated, "Your signature is required to show you received your personal items."

Rodger signed the form.

"Here is your release packet." The processing officer placed it on the counter. "Officer Jordan will escort you to the exit."

"It's been fun."

As the walked toward the exit Jordan warned, "See you stay of trouble, Clayton." He stopped at the door. "If you get sent back you won't be in this powder puff section again. You'll be sent to play with the real boys."

Declining to comment, Rodger watched the guard reach out and press a button.

The sound of the buzzer and the door unlocking had him smiling broadly.

Once outside Rodger breathed deeply, and looked around. He departed through the right-side exit. His eyes traveled to the familiar guard tower overlooking the exercise yard. It stood empty since no prisoners loitered on the grounds as of yet. He watched a small green bus slowly drive toward the main entrance of the prison. Filling every seat were MCJ's latest inmates. He couldn't help but think one of them would occupy the cell he just vacated. The bright light of the sun glinted off the polished razor wire surrounding the prison walls, making him squint. No longer inside looking out, he felt alive. He was ready to get home.

Even though it was only seven thirty in the morning the visitor parking lot held a number of cars. He wasn't the only one released today. He saw a lone figure leaning against a car he recognized as his own.

When he got close the figure straightened. "Remember this moment. Don't screw it up. Want to go for breakfast?"

Not bothering to return any kind of greeting, Rodger demanded. "Why isn't Margery here, Max?"

"She's with Ryan." Max said. "Linda asked her to spend the morning."

"She should have been the one picking me up."

"Out less then five minutes and discontent already." It wasn't a question.

"I've been gone awhile. She needs reminding on who wears the pants."

Max advanced on Rodger. The look on his face chilling. Rodger actually took a few steps backward. "What's the matter with you?"

"I don't know why I bother with you," his family member said, up close and personal. "Just because my sister and I won't win any family of the year award, you believe I don't care about her. Another one of your mistakes. My sister is weak and willing to put up with your garbage." Max's eyes iced over and his tone become granite hard, "I'm not. I hope you've learned something these past six months. Don't make me regret having stuck by you."

"Jeeze lighten up."

Max reached out and grabbed Rodger's arm in a tight grip. "I want you to understand me."

"Okay, okay." Rodger said the pressure of Max's fingers on his arm, painful.

"You spent time in here because you were stupid. You've done stupid things while incarcerated. If you lay a hand on her, or the boy, I will come after you; and when I'm done, Rodger," His voice dropped, turning darkly menacing, "you won't have any hands to use . . . ."

Rodger's bravado didn't stand a chance against Max's words.

"We clear?"

"Crystal." Rodger swallowed, definitely unsettled.

"Glad to hear it." Max released him slapping him on the back. His smile returning.

Rodger flinched.

"Come on let's get some breakfast."

Rodger could figure out if Max was putting him on or not.


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with 'em._

Forgiveness Factor

Written by: Kianda

Chapter Eight

* * *

Holiday atmosphere surrounded Station 51 as the woman volunteers brought in the last of the holiday decorations. This year they wanted to surprise the men by putting some cheer into the firehouse. Normally, a tabletop tree placed on an upended crate sufficed to mark the occasion. The woman had gathered decorations and timed their 'surprise' for when the men were at the training facility, and gone a couple of hours.

"This is the last of it, Emily," Joanne told the commander's wife, carrying a box from the parking area. "This was a great idea you had. They'll be blown away, I think."

"Thanks, Jo, the place could definitely use our magical touch, that's for sure."

"Roy usually grumbles because he has to drag the decorations out of the attic. I don't know why?" She sounded harassed. "He doesn't put them up . . . or take them down."

"Hank is pretty good about helping when he's around. It's the 'when he's around' part which doesn't quite work out at Christmas. I can't believe it's almost here; it seems we just started this project. We lucked out having them off. It will be lovely." An inner light radiated from her face.

Joanne gave Emily a knowing smile. "Let's join the others and get this place Christmas ready shall we?"

Together the two walked arm in arm to join the ladies 'decking the firehouse halls.'

— — —

The squad arrived back at the station. Johnny jumped out determined to be the first one to hit the showers. The training exercise left him smelling like a dirty woodstove. The engine was backing into the bay and he had to wait before crossing the floor. His attention diverted to the kitchen.

"Are you hearing what I'm hearing?" He asked his partner who joined him at the back of the squad.

"Depends on what your hearing, Roy teased. "If it's little voices . . ."

"Don't be a wise guy Roy. You gotta hear that."

"Johnny stepped into the kitchen and found himself in Christmas land.

"Oh, wow. Far out!" he said. "Hey guys you aren't gonna believe this."

The rest of 51 entered and eyes sparkled with childish delight. The day room was alive with the sights, and sound, of Christmas.

A real five-foot Christmas tree stood next to the couch where Henry parked himself. The dog's head rested on his front two paws, eyes watchful. His tail slowly thumped into the cushions. The heady scent of pine tickled the senses with its pungent, yet fresh clean fragrance of the forest. The tree's multi-colored lights blinked on and off appearing to shimmer as the tinsel on the tree stirred with the slightest current of air.

"Get a load of that would ya?" Chet said, pointing.

A Christmas train clickety-clacked its way around the base of the tree.

The adornments hanging from the sturdy branches came with a handwritten explanation. Each one planned and fashioned by the children of Station 51's, families, they symbolized lives saved throughout the year. California's diverse ethnic cultures represented in their design, added authenticity to the concept. There were crosses, bells, angels, stars, snowflakes, candy canes, and gingerbread men. Each held the last name of the person rescued somewhere on the ornament.

The tree was a living reminder of the gift of life.

An assortment of items placed on top of the coffee table rounded out the scene. An open scrapbook with pictures and articles from various rescues and events throughout the year tempted one to have a look. Strains of 'The Little Drummer Boy' were playing from a portable cassette player. Standing upright, an 8x10 portrait of the woman and children of Station 51's family, posing with smiling faces, held a colorful banner out in front of them. '_Merry Christmas and a healthy New Year.'_

No one spoke, afraid to break the spell.

"Do you like it?" Emily asked from the kitchen doorway.

Every eye lifted toward Captain Stanley's wife.

Hank cleared his throat. Going to her he put his arm about her shoulders. "It's lovely Em. When did all of you have time . . .?"

"I'll tell you later." She promised. She disengaged from his grasp, wiping her eyes at the genuine emotion filling the room. She took her purse from her shoulder; opening it, she retrieved a little box.

"Johnny, Lisa wasn't able to take part in the picture and as the newest member to 51's family, she made an ornament as well, but we wanted you to place it on the tree."

"The little minx never said a thing," he mumbled.

He took the box and lifted the top. Johnny sucked in air as he saw what rested inside. Its significance immediately understood. Despite the fact, she was only eight; his sister's maturity level continually surprised him. Lisa constructed a dreamcatcher out of beads and string art. Inside the small circle that formed the loop, four strands of different colored string symbolizing the four cardinal points, converged in the middle. From this, dangled the charm of a horse. His spirit guide . . . the messenger, the teacher, and the healer. Three sets of bead stands hung downward. The middle stand had letter beading and spelled out the name Clayton. A Christmas colored ribbon looped through the top.

Everyone admired the ornament as he hung it on the tree.

"It's beautiful Johnny," Emily said.

He agreed and he would be sure to tell Lisa that too.

Liz called during the showing of "It's a wonderful Life." that evening. Johnny took the phone call in the dorm so as not to disturb the others.

After the initial greeting, she gave him their flight information.

Johnny held the phone to his ear by the crook of his shoulder as he wrote the information down. "Pan Am Flight, 298, arrival time eleven-thirty on the 26th. Got it."

"Lisa is so excited about this trip. She has missed you. She can't wait to be with Jennifer DeSoto in person. The letters the two write back and forth are endless. You haven't been in our lives long Johnny but the impact you have made is already larger than I would have believed possible."

Uncomfortable, he didn't speak.

"Sorry did I make you uncomfortable?"

"It's alright.

The klaxon went off causing him to speak loudly. "I have to go Liz. Tell Lisa I'll call her when I can." He hung up.

"_Squad 51, woman down at the roller rink, 7000 Jefferson crossroads, time out 20:18_

The squad pulled up in front of a large warehouse-type structure with a giant roller skate emblazoned on the face of the building. It blinked red and green.

Gathering up their equipment a woman wearing a team jersey embroidered with 'Lady Mashers', stretch pants, elbow and kneepads, minus helmet and skates, met them at the truck.

Roy needed one look. "Let me guess Roller Derby?"

"I'm Alana, the team captain. I called you," She said nodding and talking fast. "Like, last week Marcy, she bashed the rails good'n hard. _Wham_. Rang her bell if you know what I mean. She complained about having a headache for a couple of days." They moved toward the entrance. "Today during practice, she seemed outta of it, slow. I told her to sit this one out, but before she made it to the bench, she hit the floor, yah know-fainted. She came to right away, but kinda confused.

I left her with the rink owner, to come out and meet ya."

Once inside, there wasn't anything remarkable about the roller rink. Like all rinks, it had your typical hardwood floor, and a running rail three rails deep that wrapped around the entire area. Spread out in various places were the openings to enter and leave the floor. A snack bar offered hot and thirsty skater's refreshments, and a gaming area bid one to try their video skills. What seemed out of place was the group of young woman, and one male huddled near a woman lying on the floor.

"Coming through here," Roy cautioned

"Excuse us please." Johnny placed the black trauma box on the floor. The male made room for him. Johnny knelt at the conscious woman's side. "Sir, have you called for an ambulance?" He asked.

"Yes as soon as it happened. Can I do anything else?"

"It would be helpful if you could tell the ladies to hang back?"

"Sure," he said businesses like. "Come girls lets give the fireman room. We can wait in the snack bar, sodas on me."

"Hi." Johnny focused on the young woman. "I hear you're not feeling well. Can you tell me your name?"

"Marcy," she said. "Who are you?"

"My name is John Gage," he said counting her pulse and respirations. "I'm a paramedic with the LA fire department. Do you know where you are Marcy?"

"That's a silly question, I'm on the floor."

Roy set up the bio-phone. "Marcy, I'm Roy. How old are you?"

"Nineteen." she supplied. "Can I sit up? I feel kinda goofy lying here."

"I'd like to check you over first if that's okay?

"Sure," she said.

"Pulse is 75," Johnny told his partner. Respirations are 18. Marcy? Can you tell me what happened?"

Marcy shook her head. "Not really, I remember feeling weak you know? I couldn't focus my eyes and felt kinda sick to my stomach. Then I woke up on the floor with everyone looking as if I died or something. Gosh I've never passed out before, it's embarrassing."

Johnny smiled. "Can you move alright, nothing hurts anywhere?"

"I can move okay. My head hurt earlier, not so much now."

"Rampart this is squad 51," Roy said.

"Go ahead 51."

"Rampart we have a female victim here, nineteen years of age. She suffered a brief loss of consciousness while roller-skating during a roller derby practice; the patient is now awake and oriented but has difficulty remembering the episode, standby for vitals.

"BP is 120/70; there is a slight dilation of the right eye."

Roy relayed the vitals to the hospital.

"51? Did the patient strike her head when she fell to the floor?"

"No," Alana answered, then coaxed her friend. "Tell him about last week Marcy."

"Yeah okay," Marcy said, "I kissed the rail last week. I've had headaches on and off for a couple of days."

Negative Rampart, but patient struck her head against the rink railing last week and complained of having headaches for two days.

"51, has the ambulance arrived yet?"

"Affirmative, Rampart."

"Start an IV normal saline, and transport 51."

"Ten-four."

"Do you have to stick with me that?" She asked Johnny as he prepared the IV.

"Hospital's orders, he said. "I'll be over before you know it."

— — —

"How's the girl doing?" Johnny asked Dixie as she joined them for coffee at the counter.

"Dr. Brackett ruled it post concussion syndrome. She'll stay over night for observation but she'll be fine. She sipped her coffee. "After I drink this I'm heading home. My shift is over, so I won't see you two until Christmas Eve."

"Dixie, drop by the station," Johnny invited.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, something the ladies put together, you'll like it."

"Sounds mysterious," She said. "Aren't you going to tip me off to what to expect?"

Johnny placed his empty cup on the counter, "Nah, you'll enjoy it more if I don't."

Dixie placed her own coffee cup down and said, "You have my interest piqued." In the next breath asked, "are you all set for your family to arrive Johnny?"

"As ready as I'll ever be, Dixie."

"Sounds like you're not sure." She searched her friends face. "I'm always available for moral support." She knew this visit would be important in terms of relationship building and she hoped it went smoothly, "Don't forget to bring them by the hospital so your friends here can meet them."

Scooping up the HT from the counter, he said, "Sure. See ya at the station."

— — —

Christmas Eve dawned bright and cheerful. The day would be a mild one and perfect for Station 51's annual ride down East Carson St. This event was one of Mike's favorites and he looked forward to it every year. Station 51 had the honor of transporting the jolly old man himself, A.K.A. Charlie Carver from Station 95, to the Carson Children's home to deliver gifts. The awe in which the children accepted the gifts Santa presented to them would put spirit into even the grouchiest of scrooge's. Kids, young and old lined up along the route to wave and cheer Santa. Of course, the giver of gifts rewarded them for their kindness by throwing candy their way.

Mike was in the dayroom completing his assigned task when he noticed an ornament had fallen to the floor. As he replaced it on the tree, his eyes caught sight of another, and the name assigned to it, _Montoya_. He gently lifted the ornament from the tree and ran his finger over it as a bittersweet memory descended on the engineer—a memory full of faith, hope, and unbounded love. Mike stood frozen, deep in thought, staring at the ornament but not really seeing it . . .

_He smelled gasoline and blood. Mud plastered his body and covered a young face. _

_Doing a favor for a friend, Mike volunteered to take his shift on Christmas Eve. Station 69 located in Topanga, was one he had worked in before. That evening a call came in for a car over the embankment on Tuna Canyon Rd. It was drizzling and misty on that chilly Christmas Eve, and when they arrived on scene, the sky was darkening into full night. At first, the rescuers couldn't even see where the car had ended up, the brush overgrown and thick. They searched the road in the rapidly decaying light for an off point, but couldn't locate one. The captain radioed for a verification of the call., LA informed him the caller stated he thought he saw a car go over the side. The captain then called for the air helicopter and the powerful lights she carried. When the helicopter arrived, it made two long sweeps and relayed there were two vehicles over the embankment, a car and a motorcycle. The car down thirty feet, just to the west of their position, was upside down, the motorcycle lying on it's side was down an additional ten feet, the driver nowhere in sight._

_As he rigged himself to descend along with the others, he wondered what they would find. Even on this, the holiest night of the year, death didn't take a holiday._

_He was the first one down. As he came to the upside down mangled piece of metal that had once been a car, he didn't want to look. Afraid he would see a horrific image that would stay with him for the rest of his life, Mike hesitated. He could hear the others were nearly down._

_"What have we got Stoker?" The captain asked._

_He hardened himself. This was his job good or bad, and he peered inside the broken wreck._

_She lay there amid the smashed interior of her car, eyes open, aware and looking directly at him!_

_His heart soared. "Miss, can you hear me?" He gingerly reached in and took her pulse to find it faint and thready. "Victim is alive!" He informed the captain._

_"__Senior, please get her out," She whispered as though she couldn't muster the strength to speak louder. __"I hurt and can't move. My daughter Amaris, she lays beneath me, please don't let her die."_

_ She said something that confused him. __"If you must choose senior," She said slipping into Spanish."__salvar a mi hija." (__Save my daughter)_

_Looking closer he saw a small dark thatch of hair and an arm sticking out from underneath her. He tried working his arms in, but there wasn't room. A fierce determination invaded his heart. Death would have to fight him tonight._

_Then he saw it. A piece of the car's wreckage pierced her abdomen. It was an ugly sight. His eyes closed._

_One of 45's paramedics joined him at the car, beginning his assessment. He made to move out of the way and she said softly, "Don't leave me." Her plea mixed with fear and pain kept him there._

_He asked her name._

_"__Helena . . . Montoya," she answered fighting to stay conscious. Shock began to present itself._

_Squad 45's other paramedic, with the captain's aid, went to find the motorcycle victim. Sadly, he heard the captain tell LA they had a fatality._

_The rain began to fall harder as he manned the bio-phone, leaving the medics free to carry out Ramparts orders._

_Using cutters and the Jaws they feverishly worked to free the trapped victims. The little girl was alive but her trauma was unknown, the body of her mother covered her. Helena had two IV lines inserted and they packed dressings around her wound to control the bleeding. Supplemental oxygen filled her mask, but the paramedics didn't know how long this would keep her going. The news grew worse; the same object impaled both mother and daughter._

_In order to free them both, she would need to be free of the object. This would require movement and there wasn't enough room to stabilize her spine._

_He remembered looking into faith filled eyes as they prepared to sever the connection that would free her and her daughter._

_"S__enior save my . . . Amaris." she struggled to speak. "I am __not afraid__. If I die, the arms of Jesus will hold me . . ."_

_Once extricated, Helena lapsed into unconsciousness and experienced breathing difficulties. She was intubated and bagged._

_Another engine had been dispatched, and Mike was grateful for the extra help. The steep hike to the top was just as demanding as the rescue itself. The rain made the steep incline slick and dangerous. Multiple times, someone slipped. By the time they reached the top, mud covered them all._

_The helicopter waited to fly both victims to the nearest trauma center._

_He prayed for them both, watching the helicopter's running lights fade into the night._

He looked at the ornament in his hand. Sadly, Helena's injuries were too severe. She died while en route to the hospital. Her daughter-needed surgery to remove the object from her leg but if something good came out of that night, it was the fact that the body of her mother protected the little girl from serious injury.

He hoped Helena rested in the arms of Jesus.

51's engineer replaced the ornament and turned around to collect the broom he left leaning against the couch.

"Mike, are you okay?" Empathy registered from Hank.

Mike nodded. "Sure, Cap, just reminiscing."

"Kelly!" They heard a shout.

"What?" Chet's voice responded, "the Phantom was just sending you an early Christmas present, Johnny."

"Tell the Phantom he'll be sorry he started this."

Both Hank and Mike smiled and the painful memory receded.

Life went on.

— — —

Ryan sat outside on the stoop, waiting for a visit from his father. His aunt explained his father had the right to visit with him one hour every week, and if this worked out between them the time would increase. His uncle Kevin had gone to pick up his Dad. His father didn't have his license, and had to earn it back.

He had mixed feelings. Would his father really try this time? He sounded nice over the phone, but would this really last? Ryan didn't trust his father not to go back on his word, he did it before. His uncle Max said he would be keeping an eye on things, and both Johnny and his Uncle Kevin said if he needed anything, they would be there to help him. Johnny also told him he needed to give himself plenty of time.

A car pulled up. His father gave him a wave. Kevin ruffled his hair as he walked passed him to into the house, but he stayed near the doorway. Ryan stood unsure what to do.

"Hello Rye Man," his father said, his hands shoved into his pockets.

Ryan looked at his father warily; it was a while since he heard the name. His Dad was the only one who called him that.

"Hi," He said.

"It's good to see you, son."

Ryan didn't move. He wasn't sure what to do.

"I don't expect a hug," his father said as if he read his mind. Ryan heard a slight hardness creep in. "How about a handshake?"

Hesitantly Ryan walked closer and his father stuck out his hand. The two shook hands, he noticed how his hand was dwarfed by that of his father's larger one.

"What do you want to do?" His visitor asked.

Ryan shrugged, "Dunno, let's go inside . . ."

— — —

"See you next week Rodger," Kevin said.

"Yeah."

"It will get easier. Don't rush it. "

"Sure, if you say so," Rodger complained. "He hardly said anything. My son hates me."

"No, he doesn't, he's just confused. He wants to believe in you, but he's seen this before and so have we."

Fed-up Rodger said, "I get the feeling everyone is expecting me to fail."

"Then prove us wrong."

Rodger smiled but his smile wasn't warm. "See ya later, Kevin."

— — —

Rodger walked into an empty house going straight to the refrigerator, only to find it empty of what he wanted. He scowled.

— — —

The station was quiet, the men bedded down for the night. Not everyone was sleeping. Johnny lay awake, waiting. He thought as he lay there this was his last working day for the next six. He had taken several vacation days, and didn't need to report for work until the thirtieth.

He pressed the tiny button on his watch to light up the dial. It registered after midnight. He whispered into the stillness. "Merry Christmas."


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with 'em._

Forgiveness Factor

Written by: Kianda

Chapter Nine

* * *

Johnny looked at the clock. 3:30 P. M. He juggled the box filled with his gifts. Expected to be at Roy's house by 5:00 P. M., he needed to get moving, or he would be late for dinner.

He only just returned from Rampart. Either Christmas Eve, or Christmas day, depending on his work schedule, he made it a point to spend at least an hour up in the children's ward reading or telling stories. Even though the children were in the hospital, and not at home, their spirit for the holiday left him feeling good all over.

The phone rang catching Johnny with one foot out the door.

Sighing, he stepped back inside.

"John Gage speaking," he answered smoothly, placing the box on the floor.

"Merry Christmas, Johnny."

"Hey Dixie, same to you," he said warmly. "Enjoying your day off?"

"Not enough hours in a day, it seems." She sounded stressed. "I was wondering if you are heading to Roy's this evening."

"Yeah, around five. Ya need something?"

"You would be doing me a favor if you would deliver a couple of gifts I have for the kids. I had intentions of swinging by his place earlier. Like all laid plans I became sidetracked."

"I have two stops I need to make, but I can be there in fifteen minutes?"

"Thanks Johnny, see you in a few." She rang off.

Exactly fourteen minutes later, and two presents lighter, Johnny knocked upon Dixie's apartment door. He had been to her apartment a handful of times, all for parties.

When the door opened his eyes rose in pleasant surprise. "Wow, you look nice," he complimented.

Dixie's hair, free of any hair combs or ponytail holders fell softly about her shoulders and down her back. Johnny liked seeing her without the authoritative persona her job demanded. She wore a dark green maxi dress that nearly swept the floor, accentuating her curves. Matching heels gave her a few added inches. Around her throat, a drop necklace full of sparkling stars rested against her skin. From her ears dangled matching earrings. He caught the scent of Chanel Number 5 perfume. Brackett had to figure in this somewhere, he imagined. If one were to believe the water cooler gossip the two professionals had an interesting on-off relationship going.

Smiling she opened the door wider, a clear invitation for him to enter.

"Hey, you don't look bad yourself," She said appraising him as he entered.

Unlike the tiny Christmas tree he had in his apartment, Dixie had a six-foot blue spruce in the living room. Blue lights twinkled between its feathery boughs gleaming almost sliver. Delicately draping its soft arms were hand-blown, glass ornaments. Their clear surface, picked up surrounding color producing auras of incandescent light. Seasonal knick-knacks, sprinkled throughout the room, added to the Christmas warmth.

"You like?"

"Very welcoming," he said giving her an honest appraisal. "Just like you, Dix."

"Smooth talker," she playfully scolded. "Can I offer you something to drink?"

"No, nothing for me thanks." Rubbing his stomach he confided, "I'm saving myself for later tonight."

She nodded and walked to the tree. Gracefully, she bent down picking up three gift-wrapped packages.

"A smart man knows not to disappoint the cook." She held onto the gifts for a moment. "Make sure you give Roy's kids a hug for me?"

"For you Dixie, I'll give them an extra one." He winked.

She smiled. "I received the floral arrangement you had sent over. It's beautiful. You know how to spoil a lady."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it," he said flashing his famous dimples. "And . . . spoiling is good for you," he paused, "in moderation."

Something fluttered in her middle. When that certain look paired up with his silky tone she couldn't help wonder how he remained single.

Organizing her thoughts she told him, "I won't keep you." She indicated which two presents were to go to Chris and Jen. "Their names are on them. This," she said handing him a gift, "is for you, along with an invitation to a New Years Eve gathering I'm hosting."

"Now who is spoiling who?"

"It's a gal's prerogative," she told him smiling.

— — —

Rodger lounged on the sofa, a beer in his hand watching as the Christmas tree lights blinked on and off. The TV was on but he wasn't paying much attention to it.

He did not feel the joy of the season; in fact, he couldn't wait for all the holiday hoopla to be finished. Yesterday was dismal and today just the same. He took a sip from his beer wondering what his son and wife were up too. Margery had been gone for almost three hours, leaving him alone. She took full advantage of her unrestricted visitation status. He wasn't happy with her. She had changed he admitted, not only in appearance, but also in her attitude toward him. What surprised him the most she wasn't a mousy thing afraid of her own shadow. Instead, he came home to a more confident woman. At first, it had been a turn-on, something new and different. Now, it was just plain annoying. She remained distant, and he was tiring of this new woman. Already the restrictions placed upon him as if he was some kind of hardened criminal, grew old. When he met with Ryan, it was obvious to anyone in the room the boy would rather be anywhere else. No one gave him any sympathy, not even Max who it seemed, was avoiding him. This made him angry, and he polished off the rest of the beer reaching for another.

Where in the hell was his wife?

— — —

The last address on the list took Johnny to the Brown house. They knew he was coming. He parked at the curb not wanting to block the driveway. As he walked up the steps to the front door, it opened, and Kevin greeted him.

"Come in, and Merry Christmas. Ryan is outback."

He led Johnny into the living room. Johnny glanced out the open window that faced the backyard. A small group of people were playing football. Ryan, in the middle of the fray, was laughing and having a good time.

"Hey Steph," Kevin addressed his daughter who was currently curled up on the sofa, pen in hand, writing in a book. "Can you get Ryan?"

"Sure dad," she said putting her book down. "Hello Mr. Gage," she greeted. "Merry Christmas."

As they waited, for Ryan, Kevin made small talk. "Ryan tells us you have family flying in tomorrow, Montana right?"

Johnny nodded.

"LAX will be a zoo, I picked up my brother's family yesterday. They leave day after tomorrow."

The clang of the back door alerted them that Ryan came inside.

"Hey little man," Kevin said affectionately when Ryan came into view, "Mr. Gage dropped by to wish you Merry Christmas."

— — —

"_Quietly, one by one, the animals came to gaze upon the humble child who lay sleeping in the manger; they knew this child would be out of the ordinary, for all of heaven rejoiced at his birth. Overhead, a star shone brightly, and humankind knelt at his feet." _

"The Baby Jesus," Jennifer said yawning, snuggled up against Johnny on the sofa, her eyes drooping a little.

"That's right Jen, the Baby Jesus."

"I liked that story Uncle Johnny," she said yawning again.

"Okay Jennifer," her father said from his perch in the nearby easy chair, "It's time for bed."

Before leaving, she gave Johnny a peck on the cheek and placing her hand up to his ear whispered, "I'm too excited to sleep 'cause tomorrow your sister arrives."

Roy heard and smiled.

"The sooner you fall asleep the sooner tomorrow arrives," Johnny whispered back.

"Mommy told me that last night. " Jennifer hopped down and kissed her father. "Night, Daddy."

"Don't forget to brush your teeth, and remind your brother to do the same. I'll be up to check in five minutes."

"_Chris,_" the little girl yelled running up the steps.

"Don't run on the stairs," her father warned standing up and stretching.

"I'm gonna head out since you have an early start tomorrow," Johnny told him.

"I appreciate you getting Bellingham and Turner lined up to work."

"No problem. Bob's been scouring for overtime, and Larry volunteered when he heard I needed someone to fill in for me. Thanks for having me over."

Joanne overhearing him as she walked in from the kitchen said firmly, "You're family Johnny."

Returning to his apartment, he called Montana. He spoke with his sister first, wishing her a Merry Christmas, his father next, and finally Liz.

"Instead of leaving on Wednesday like we planned Johnny, we are leaving on Thursday."

"I work on Thursday, I won't be able to get you to the airport."

"I know, don't worry about it. We have to return the rental car to the airport, so getting there won't a problem. The flight doesn't leave until 11:00. You didn't speak very long," Liz said, referring to his conversation with his father.

"He said he was tired. How is he?" Johnny asked.

"Do you want to know from a health prospective, or personal one?"

Liz definitely didn't allow you any hedging. She often asked pointed questions you had to answer.

"He told me I didn't need to worry about him."

"He's telling you the truth. Dr. Logan cleared him for this visit, Johnny. He's satisfied with his progress."

He kept quiet.

He heard her sigh. "Don't let his moodiness throw you. He's fine or we wouldn't be coming."

— — —

_The horse and rider came to an abandon house. The exhilaration of the run vanished in an instant. _

"_Whoa." The rider pulled up on the reins, and the animal stopped. The horse's nostril's flared and it stomped in impatience, not liking this place. The rider dismounted, looped the reins around the porch rail, and cautiously entered the house. _

"_Hello?" he called._

_The sound resonated with such clarity he recognized it instantly . . . the soul-splintering heartache of unimaginable grief. Strong empathy for whoever grieved behind the closed door drove him forward wanting only to offer comfort._

_A crow cawed. Confused, the rider looked around spotting the harbinger of change. Having flown through an open window it somehow became entangled in the cord for the window blind. It struggled. The more it thrashed the tighter the cord squeezed._

_"Caw, caw, caw." its frantic cry became as loud as the sobbing from within the room. Torn and unsure in which direction to go, the rider stood still. If he did nothing the bird would strangle on the cord, but whoever languished behind the closed door plainly needed consoling. _

_He changed direction moving away from the door and went toward the helpless creature. The immediate threat was to the bird. The bird sensed it wasn't alone and stopped moving. Warily it watched him through beady black eyes its small chest heaving with exertion._

_"It's alright. You're gonna be alright," he crooned, advancing._

_The sobbing in the room started to fade away the closer he came to the bird._

_Coming within a hands throw of touching it, sensing danger, the bird began to struggle anew. Frantic to get away, but hopelessly tangled, it had nowhere to go. _

_The cord tightened._

_"Stop struggling, you are only making it worse for yourself. I want to help you." _

_The man reached in and began to loosen the cord from around the fragile body. The bird retaliated by pecking at his hand. _

_There was silence from the room now, and the rider wondered if the occupant had calmed._

_A few painful pecks to the hand later, the bird was free. It made no move to fly away. _

_"Go, you're free," he encouraged._

_The bird just sat there, its head cocked to the side watching, waiting._

_"Why did you save that ugly old thing?"_

_The rider turned to find the door to the room ajar, and the shadow of someone near. The hair rose on his neck. _

_"Every living creature needs to feel safe." _

_"All his kind does is take and injure, look what it did to your hand."_

_He looked down to discover his hand was bleeding._

_"It felt threatened. It didn't mean to harm me."_

"_You always did have a kind heart John, look again."_

_On guard, Johnny turned back to the window to discover a cat preening itself. Black feathers lay scattered about the windowsill and floor. His heart plunged._

_Mockingly the shadow uttered, "You can't trust anything."_

_Anger flared recognizing the voice. "Stop hiding. Show yourself."_

"_I challenge you to do the same, boy." _

_The door opened wider, whole and hail __his father __walked from the room._

Coming awake, Johnny immediately sat up his eyes seeking out his bedroom door. He ran shaky hands through his hair glancing at the alarm clock. 2:45 AM. Slowly he lay back until his head nestle into his pillow. His drumming heart returned to normal, and his respirations decreased. No ordinary dream, the confused man lay awake trying to figure out its meaning.

— — —

Los Angeles International Airport oval in shape and flanked by 8 terminals along with a two-tiered roadway, wasn't Johnny's favorite place to be. The upper deck for departures, and ground level for arrivals meant steady traffic in both people and vehicles. There were times he had dropped off or picked up friends, but this didn't require parking his car. To park he needed to enter one of the parking garages inside the oval. The 4-lane roadway around the airport was known as, 'World Way'. You entered the oval at terminal one. This caused a bottlenecking effect and traffic moved at a snail's pace with lots of honking and stopping. During the holidays, the airport population increased significantly making navigating tricky business. If caught in the wrong lane you found yourself traversing the oval again.

After parking his car, he made his way through the throng of people, his destination terminal four. He stopped to read one of the giant display boards.

Pan AM flight 298 was delayed, and running twenty-five minutes behind schedule.

"John?"

A young woman, wheeling a luggage bag behind her, called out.

"Karen!" Johnny returned with enthusiasm. He hadn't seen the flight attendant in months. "How have you been?"

"I'm flying internationally now, no more locals."

"You look fantastic," he appraised.

"Still the charmer, hum?"

"It's part of my mystique."

Eyes rolled. "What brings you to the airport?"

"I'm picking up family."

A puzzled look crossed her face. "I thought you didn't—"

"Long story. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

"Oh, I would love to have the company, and the coffee, but I'm on a Europe run in exactly," she glanced down at her watch, "jeeze, eight minutes. Give me a rain check?"

"Anytime Karen, it's good seeing you."

"Same here John, Happy Holiday's."

— — —

The passengers from the flight were disembarking. A small group of travelers came into view then separated.

The first sight of the man in the wheelchair caused tension to grip his belly. The reaction was spontaneous. It passed as soon as he spotted his sister.

"Johnny," Lisa called. Breaking away from her parents, his sister accidentally bumped into another passenger in her haste. "Sorry," she said not slowing.

She had sprouted at least an inch since he saw her over the summer. "You've grown," he said, giving her a welcoming hug and a wide smile when she reached him.

"I missed you." She hugged him tightly. Johnny looked beyond his sister to meet his father eyes. They were questioning waiting for him to make the first gesture.

"Welcome to sunny California," he said standing up.

"Hello, John." His father greeted.

"Let me carry those for you," he told his stepmother, giving her a hug, taking the two carry-on bags from her. "You won't need your coats, its seventy degrees outside. How was the flight?"

"Flights were backed up due to the snowy weather at our end. We hit turbulence, but otherwise an uneventful trip."

They made small talk as they followed other passengers to the baggage claim area. At the empty turnstile, waiting on their luggage, Liz told him, "Your friend Roy called us yesterday. Tomorrow evening we're invited to have dinner over at your partner's home. We've accepted. Lisa has been invited to spend the night."

He knew about dinner, but not the invitation for a sleepover. "Are you okay with it?" he asked, unsure how they felt about letting their daughter spend the night with people they hadn't met yet.

His father spoke surprising him. "Why wouldn't it be? The two girls have been writing to each other for months. This is your partner's family, you've trusted each other for how many years? I think it will be okay."

The luggage began to spill onto the turnstile from the treadmill chute. Everyone crowded around trying to retrieve his or her belongings.

"Those two are ours, Johnny," his stepmother pointed, "the ones with the green tags."

After the two cases were plucked from the turnstile, Johnny said, "I figured since we are here in LA, I would show you around, make a day of it. You can't get into the hotel until after two, and the rental pickup is anytime before five."

He waited for his father's answer. When it came, it wasn't something expected.

"I would like to see where you lived with your aunt."

He bristled, "Why would you—"

"John," Liz cautioned. "What are you—"

"I want to see where you lived," he said again. "You're aunt never included any pictures of the place." His father's reason wasn't arguable.

Lisa oblivious to the undercurrents of tension, exclaimed, "Far out, could we?"

"Johnny you don't have to do this," Liz intervened, eyes leveling her husband with a veiled message. _What are you up too?_

"No I don't." Johnny looked directly at his father, tight lipped, trying to keep the anger from his tone. He would have liked to say more, but kept silent in front of his sister. "If this is what you want to see, I'll take you."

After Liz helped his father into the front seat, and Johnny stowed the luggage and the wheelchair in the back of the rover, they were on their way.

Twenty minutes later driving down a maze of streets he had once navigated, but hadn't been down since he closed up the house, Johnny pulled up to an older two-bedroom home tucked tightly in-between two neighboring houses.

Transported back in time, this section of LA looked to be a throw back to days gone by. Instead of smooth pavement, crushed stone served for driveways. Vegetables and flowers grew from backyard gardens, and umbrella type clotheslines served as nature's clothes dryer. Most front porches had a rocker or two, where, if you put your imagination to work, you visualized the homes occupants discussing the days events. In the distance, the yipping of dogs reached him.

A typical ranch style home on less than a quarter of an acre, there was nothing remarkable about it.

"_Welcome to your new home John, I hope you will like it." _

"_I'm grateful Aunt Rose." He told her, his voice flat._

_She put her arm around his shoulder. "The pain you harbor will fade and not mark you so powerfully." _

His aunt had been right. The pain of loss did fade, and he embraced his life in L.A.

"_Aunt Rose, I'm thinking of contacting Dad." _

"_Three years is a long time between hello's. Why now John?"_

"_I'm ready to see him. He has the answers to my questions. "_

"_I'm sorry John; he doesn't want to see you. He told me so." _

The pain of that rejection refueled his resentment and kept him from asking again.

His Aunt Rose had lied. The mere thought soured his stomach, and seeing the house only intensified it. But no matter how things played out, his aunt had been a powerful influence in his life. She taught him to embrace living. With that in mind he inquired, "Do you want to get out and look around? I have a key."

"Your aunt left you the house free and clear, why haven't you sold it?"

"I haven't thought about it." Johnny said, but in truth, he hadn't been able to sever the last link he had with his aunt, even with what he knew. "Most of the stuff inside is covered or packed up. One of the neighbors keeps an eye on things for me."

Feeling the tension and knowing Johnny needed to speak to his father alone, Liz took the opportunity to say, "Lisa and I will have a look around." She took the key he removed from his key ring, giving his arm a squeeze.

Lisa asked as the two walked up to the front door, "Mommy, Johnny looked sad; didn't he want to show us where he used to live?"

Her answer was lost when his father spoke. "I needed to physically see it."

Johnny's face darkened, "Is this a guilt cleansing for you? I won't be a part of the jog down memory lane. There aren't any answers in this house for you, just as there are none for me."

"You still have plenty of anger built up," the old man said dryly.

"Anger put there by both you and Aunt Rose," he said heatedly.

The figure in the front seat seemed to grow smaller. "I won't argue with you."

Johnny opened the door. If he stayed seated, he would say something he would feel guilty over later. He got out and shut the door leaning against it.

"Do you want to go inside?" he asked abruptly.

"It doesn't look like my chair will fit through the door and you aren't carrying me anywhere."

"I won't drop you," he said. "I carry people on a regular basis."

"No."

"Suite yourself."

He left and started up the walk to the house. He had no intention of going inside, but he needed to put some distance between himself and his father. Why was he being so antagonistic?

"Johnny Gage, I thought that was your car." A robust woman of around sixty walked toward him from the house next door, the gray of her hair neatly matched an apron tied about her ample waist.

"Carmella!"

"Oh lordly, it's been too long since I've set eyes on your handsome face."

Johnny embraced the vigorous looking woman.

"Yes sir, it's been too long. I thought you'd forgotten all about Carmella." She looked beyond him to the man seated in the front seat. Her eyes grew large.

"As I live and breath," she whispered. "John Sr."

Carmella knew the story of his life; she was Rose's good friend for many years.

"Carmella, my family is visiting."

The fact she didn't register surprise established Carmella had known of his father's remarriage.

Her black-brown eyes shone with curiosity, "You two mend fences?"

"Are you going to introduce me?" His father called through the window.

"Carmella Jones, meet John Gage."

Waving formality she told the man seated in the car, "This boy of yours is something special, yes sir, an angel among us."

Johnny steered the conversation in another direction. "How's Leo?"

"That man o' mine is still kickin' and gonna be disappointed if he doesn't get a chance to see you."

Johnny laughed, "Carmella you haven't changed a bit."

"And why should I? I like me jus' the way I am, and so does my Leo."

"I can't argue with that."

"Will you look at the sweet child, how old is she?" She asked as Lisa and Liz made their way out of the house.

"Eight."

Carmella's eyes rose again, but she refrained from commenting. _Interesting_, he thought, _she didn't know about Lisa_. He introduced his stepmother and sister. They talked for a few more minutes.

"Don't wait so long before you come back, skinny boy. Leo would love to see you."

"Thanks Carmella I'll do my best."

"See that you do," she said hugging him tightly. "You keep safe now, you hear?"

"Happy New Year, Mrs. Jones," Liz said, as the woman walked back toward her house. "I locked the door Johnny," giving him back the key, "but wouldn't you like to go inside?"

He shook his head. "No, there isn't reason too."

Johnny's anger was gone when he slipped into the driver's seat, indebted to Carmella for her timely intervention.

"I'll drive by the high school if you want to see it."

His father looked out the window. "No, I've seen what I needed too."

— — —

"Johnny, Daddy didn't talk very much, is he tired?"

"I don't know, maybe."

They were on their way back to Carson. After they had eaten an early lunch, Johnny drove around and showed them local points of interest. He took them to a spot where you could see downtown LA and the mountains as a backdrop. After taking numerous pictures, Liz commented on how beautiful it was. She thought how convenient it was that in every direction within an hours drive, you had something to appeal to every interest. "The sea, for the water enthusiast, the mountains for the adventurer, the city proper when you wanted urbane culture, and the outlying areas, when you needed, solitude and peace. Lovely."

— — —

"Did you like LA?" He asked his sister, his attention drawn to the rear view mirror.

"Um, hum," she said.

Liz, and his father were in the rental van following behind. Although Johnny had volunteered to take them anywhere they wanted to go while they were here, his father had insisted on renting a vehicle. The 405 was heavy with traffic. Travelers were returning to Carson after being away for the holiday, and others were taking advantage of the day after Christmas sales and the unseasonably warm weather. He worried he would lose her in the heavy volume.

"What part did you like?" he encouraged.

"The airport, the really tall buildings, the Christmas decorations everywhere, all the people, its pretty rad." Lisa gave him a wide grin.

Her good mood infectious, he smiled. "Are you excited about seeing Jennifer tomorrow?"

— — —

In the van following behind, Liz had no problem keeping up with Johnny, who she thought, was probably driving more slowly then he normally did afraid she's fall behind and get lost.

"John?

"Hum?"

"You've been very quiet."

"I'm fine."

"Care to share?"

John looked out the window at the scenery. "I don't understand John."

"What do you mean?"

"He invited us here, yet he remains cool and distant to me."

"You haven't exactly been peaches and cream either. I try not to throw myself into your business, but six months is hardly enough time for him to come around, John. The waters' are still too muddy. I think he's doing remarkable well, considering what you requested of him. He wasn't comfortable and you knew it. Tell me what your reason is by keeping him off balance like that?"

"If the boy was indifferent to me, he wouldn't have gotten angry at the request. I needed to feel him out. "

"Dredging up painful reminders is not how you will win his trust. Rose took him from a life of sorrow, and pain—showed him a world to which he adapted and prospered. This little adventure served only to remind him of your neglect, and her duplicity."

"I want more from my son than cool politeness damn it, is too much to ask?"

"Right now, yes."

Showing displeasure he commented, "Do you always have to be so brutally honest?"

"I won't be any other way."

— — —

Roy couldn't help notice Johnny's cool reserve. He wondered what was wrong. The initial meeting of his family went smoothly. They were exactly like Johnny said they'd be. Though Lisa was older than Jennifer, the age didn't seem to matter. As soon as the two met, it was clear they were friends. His father had a strong handshake and he remained polite and approachable. Roy could see hard living stamped on the man's features and he didn't loose sight of the fact this man had caused his friend immeasurable pain. His stepmother was a lively woman, who spoke her mind and he could tell Joanne liked this about her since Joanne was similar in nature.

After a leisurely dinner the group moved into the living room, the kids disappearing upstairs. They talked about Montana for while and then the conversation switched.

Liz commented, "You started out working together within the paramedic program?"

When Johnny didn't answer Roy said, "Johnny worked out of Station 10 as a rescue fireman. When the paramedic bill came into play we started recruiting for potential paramedics." Roy stopped a moment waiting to see if Johnny would to take up the story, when he didn't he continued, "He came to the recruitment office and with a bit of persuading," he smiled remembering the hard selling pitch he had to use, "I managed to convince him to sign up. We went through the program. After the paramedic bill passed, we were assigned to Station 51, a brand new station."

Johnny watched his father as Roy told the story. His father knew all about this part of his life, as his aunt dutifully supplied him with information. Their eyes met and he read pride in his father's eyes. This disturbed Johnny and he looked away. His temples suddenly throbbed with tension.

An awkward silence filled he room.

Joanne said, "When Roy brought Johnny to the house for the first time, he definitely left an impression. Here was a young rescue fireman, one who went through a vigorous training program, was going to be my husbands partner on the line, and he couldn't walk in the front door without tripping."

Laughter broke the awkwardness.

Johnny smiled remembering his bumbling introduction. "You made me nervous, Jo." he defended himself. "After stammering my hello," He told his audience, "I proceeded to trip inside the door, knocking her over in the process."

Joanne turned serious and said, "Clumsy you might have been Johnny, but I knew when you kept me from hitting the floor, you would have Roy's back when you were together."

Johnny slowly turned red.

Roy hadn't known of his wife's view, she hadn't said anything.

Jennifer came down the stairs and into the living room.

"Excuse me," Joanne said politely. "What is it Jennifer?" Her mother asked.

Jennifer aimed her question at Johnny. "Um, Uncle Johnny?"

"Yeah, squirt?.

John Sr. watched a softness appear on his son's face as he spoke with Jennifer. This look caused a flicker of pain, since it was the same softness he wore for his mother all those years ago.

"I know your dad is here and all but . . ." She stalled.

"But what, pumpkin?"

"Could you tell us one of your special stories?" She walked up to his father's Wheelchair. "Uncle Johnny tells the best stories."

"Yes he does." John Sr. smiled at her.

Roy would have told Jennifer they had company and she needed to wait, but he sensed his partner needed a break. Johnny took the opportunity.

"Excuse me, everyone, two special ladies need my attention."

"Chris is with us too, Uncle Johnny."

"Oh. I'm sorry. A special lady and one fine gentlemen," he amended.

This garnered a giggle out of her. He offered her his hand and she took it.

Watching them go Joanne inquired, "Anyone care for a cup of tea or coffee?"

The men declined, but Liz accepted. "I would love a cup of tea. Let me keep you company."

The two walked into the kitchen leaving Roy alone with Johnny's father.

"During his visit, John spoke highly of your family," John Sr. said.

"Your son is a very good friend of mine."

"I understand, so you are probably aware of his past."

"Only just recently aware," he said, and went no further.

"Opening your home to me says quite a lot about you."

— — —

"How long have you known?" Liz asked as she sat at the kitchen table watching as Joanne busied herself with preparing the tea tray. Cups and saucers, sugar, lemon slices, and milk, were added to the tray before she sat down.

She said a trifle stiffly, "I assume you are speaking about Johnny's past?"

Liz nodded.

"Not long. I'm not comfortable speaking about this."

Liz didn't take offense. "I understand." She changed the subject. "Thank you for inviting Lisa to spend the night. She has been looking forward to this ever since she found out about Jennifer."

"Lisa is a lovely young lady."

Thank you."

As the two sat waiting for the kettle to boil Joanne asked about Liz's job. When the water was ready and the tea pot filled, the two went back into the living room.

Thirty minutes later his parents took their leave. Johnny and Roy carried his father's wheelchair down the front steps. Liz took over and wheeled him to the van where he hoisted himself up into the passenger seat. Johnny folded his chair and stored it in the van.

"Call me when your ready to leave the hotel tomorrow," he told his father. "I'll pick up Lisa. We can swing by the station. We'll visit the hospital too."

"I'd like that. Have a good night John." His father said.

"Yeah, you too." It felt strange talking with his father in the manner. He rubbed his head.

Both Joanne and Roy stood on the stoop.

Once the van pulled away, Johnny breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks for having us over. Are you still up for the arcade on Wednesday?"

"I think Joanne is looking forward to it more than the kids," Roy admitted. "We'll meet you there around four. Before you leave junior, do you want something for your headache?"

Not surprised by his question, Johnny answered, "Nah, I can take something when I get home."

"Take it easy then."

Joanne gave him a hug goodbye. "Be prepared to lose at Night Driver."

His eyes gleamed with challenge. "You're on."


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with 'em._

Forgiveness Factor

Written by: Kianda

Chapter Ten

* * *

With his feet braced against the edge of the coffee table, Johnny settled back into the couch with a weary sigh. The tight band of tension holding his muscles hostage loosened as he relaxed; diminishing the headache, still present. Taking a lengthy drink from the cold brew in his hand, he closed his eyes appreciating the tranquility. As he continued to unwind, his mind played back the evening's events. All things considered it went smoothly. Under Roy and Joanne's friendly hospitality everyone remained at ease. Inviting his sister to spend the night was considerate, and would be fun for the girls. As he concentrated on his father, he absently rubbed his achy forehead. His comfortable level around him had altered little, and he wondered if he would ever loose the cagey feeling within close proximity of the man.

Thoughts continued to tumble over themselves.

Cap invited them for lunch at the station tomorrow. Dixie mentioned wanting to meet his family so he had plans to head to Rampart. He hadn't given Dixie an answer yet about attending her New Years Eve party. Wednesday was his families last full day and night in California before heading back to Montana. His intention to to hook up with the DeSoto's at Fun Land, with Lisa and Ryan, was still on. His father and stepmother wouldn't be accompanying them to the arcade. A half-smile formed as he recalled Liz's explanation. _"Shopping is more our speed. Not that were old, mind you, __we'll __just leave the gaming to those who know how to play them."_

The ringing of the phone jarred the stillness, intruding into his thoughts.

"Hello John." The voice on the other end belonged to his father.

"Is every—"

"We're fine," he said getting straight to the point. "Will you join me for breakfast tomorrow? We can go anywhere you like; I'd appreciate the chance to talk to you."

His father's request wasn't unexpected. Johnny had the feeling yesterday, his father wanted to say more than he did, and today they really hadn't had the opportunity to be alone. "What about Liz?"

"Liz says she has no desire rising early. I figure with Lisa being picked up later in the morning, we have the time."

Johnny suspected Liz was keeping out of the way, giving them the chance to be alone. He agreed to the request. "I'll meet you in the lobby tomorrow morning at seven-thirty."

"See you then."

— — —

In another part of town, Max sat hunched over a barstool within the smoky and dimly lit environment of his favorite hole in the wall. Two other 'regulars' shared the bar with him. Both nursed drinks, and looked exactly the same way—miserable. In front of him and still untouched rested his drink of choice tonight, a beer-chaser.

This wasn't the first time he found himself at the bar tending a duel mixture of contemplation, but the reason behind this visit, was. Linda ought to have kept this information to herself, he thought crossly. Damn if she had, his notion of right and wrong wouldn't be in an uproar. Telling him because she was worried about the situation, he understood, but he had a sneaking suspicion she told him for another reason. What exactly Linda thought he could do about it he hadn't figured out yet. He tried to convince himself it wasn't his business, but when Linda told him what his sister was planning, his first reaction was one of surprise, and then unease. When Linda went on to say Margery didn't want her help, that she could handle her husband, he debated whether to take what he knew to Rodger first. He squashed the idea. This problem was between Margery and Rodger. As he sat chewing over the potential complications this unfolding situation could bring, his right hand strayed to the shot glass in front of him. Abstractedly using his thumb and two fingers he began rotating the glass. A portion of the liquid spilled over the top to pond against the smooth surface of the bar. The soft distinctly rich aroma of bourbon wafted toward his nose treating it to the light scent of vanilla and caramel. Realizing what he had just done, he released the glass and used a napkin resting near his beer to blot up the mess.

He sighed, and his face took on a scowl. Rodger would hardly see this coming. A few weeks out of the joint wasn't time for him to adjust, and to have this situation about to be thrust at him, and the holidays not yet over, didn't seem fair somehow. While he applauded Margery for her pluck, her timing stank. It appeared these last six months changed his sister, made her stronger. Feeling any sympathy for Rodger was foolish, hardheaded and heavy-handed, the man had made his own bed, and had it coming. On the other side of the coin a long history existed between them, and they were related by marriage.

Everything shouted at him to walk way, but Margery was his sister, Rodger his friend, and both could use his help. Ryan too would need support. He came up with the only decision that calmed his warring principles. He would try to talk with Margery before she presented Rodger with her 'little' present. He wondered what kind of reception he would receive.

"Say Max?" The bartender broke through his musings, lifting an ashtray to swipe underneath it with a wet rag, "are you going to drink that? Or are you planning on beating it up."

Max glanced up and sneered, "Sometimes Joe, you can be a real wise-ass." Reaching for the shot glass, he quickly downed the heady libation and 'chased' it with his beer. Sliding his empty shot glass toward the inquisitive bar tender, he indicated he wanted another.

Joe flipped the rag he was using over his shoulder and snatched up the glass. He reached under the bar, bringing up the desired bottle of bourbon, the turkey on the label distinct, and replenished the empty glass. "Doing some heavy thinking tonight, are you?"

"What's it to you?"

"Nothing Max," Joe shrugged. "Just making an observation is all. You looked troubled, and I'm not used to seeing you here during the week."

"Yeah, well," he lifted the shot glass up to eye level turning it to catch the light, seemingly fascinated by it. "You don't have the family I've got." With that statement, he kicked back the shot and drained his beer. He placed money on the bar, and stood.

"Take it easy friend," Joe said, picking up the money wiping the bar clean.

— — —

Tuesday morning, Joanne sat alone at the kitchen table with an almost empty cup of tea in front of her. Having seen Roy off to work some time ago, she had already prepared the children's breakfast, which sat warming in the oven; she waited on the kids to make their way downstairs. Usually early risers, she hadn't heard any stirrings from upstairs yet. It was strange to be home during the kid's entire Christmas break. As a rule, she would spend at least a week or more visiting her mother. The visit provided an opportunity for the kids to spend time with their grandmother, and spared her husband the stress of having to deal with her mother. Even though Roy went out of his way to avoid confrontation when they were together, for whatever reason, her mother needled Roy on a galactic scale. The friction this caused inevitably spilled onto the two of them because she felt the need to defend her mother. As a way to appease her mother, keep her marriage free from pointless arguments, and to save Roy's sanity, she had thought up this arrangement. Because her mother's holiday travel plans negated her visit with her grandchildren, Joanne could expect a future call from her mother wanting to arrange her stay. Poor Roy, her husband would turn miserable at the mere hint of her mother wanting to visit.

The sound of feet tromping down the stairs had her looking toward the kitchen doorway. The girls traipsed into the room.

"Morning, Mommy," Jennifer greeted.

"Good morning, Mrs. DeSoto," Lisa said.

"Good morning girls, I didn't think you were awake yet, you were so quiet. Did you sleep well?" The two had closeted themselves in Jennifer's bedroom; as a result, she hadn't much interaction with them before they were in bed for the night.

Both heads nodded amid yawns.

"There's French toast and eggs warming in the oven," Joanne told them. "If you prefer Lisa, we have cereal."

"I like French toast."

"Uncle Johnny says Mommy makes the best French toast," she told her friend.

"Well, Jen," Joanne conveyed in a serious tone but her eyes flashed amusement. "If Uncle Johnny says its so, it must be true."

"Morning . . . sleepy head." Jennifer greeted her brother who followed the girls into the kitchen. Without acknowledging either his sister or their guest, he opened the fridge and took out the orange juice.

"Make sure you use a glass," his mother warned.

As the children sat down to eat, Joanne examined Johnny sister. Physically, the two didn't come across as related. Notably, Johnny's Native American features stood out. Lisa on the other hand had a combination of both her parents, with a genetic lean toward the Gage side. The two siblings did merge in certain mannerisms. The tilt of her head, her use of hands while talking, even the slight dimple that emerged when she smiled, reminded Joanne of Johnny.

"Your Christmas tree is pretty," Lisa observed.

"The one at the fire station is still up," Jo told her. "You'll see it today. Johnny is very proud of the ornament you made."

"He told me," Lisa smiled reaching for the pancake syrup. As she did her necklace, coming free from the inside of her PJ top, clanked against her plate.

"That's Uncle Johnny's necklace, the one with the pretty saying," said Jennifer eyeing her friend. "He always had it 'round his neck 'cause a special person gave it to him."

"Yep, Firefly gave it to me," she said while pouring maple syrup over her French toast.

"Who's Firefly?" Christopher asked, puzzled.

Lisa waited until her mouth was empty of food before speaking. "It's my brother's nickname." She explained why Johnny had given her the necklace on his last day in Montana.

Jennifer glanced at her mother, confusion crinkling her face. "Uncle Johnny tells us lots of things Mommy, how come he never told us 'bout his nickname?"

Like everyone else, Joanne became aware of Shannon, and her importance to Johnny only recently. She said thoughtfully, "Maybe he doesn't mention it because it makes him sad."

As soon as the words were out, she realized her mistake. While her kids were aware of Johnny having a sister, they weren't privy to most of Johnny's distant past. Both Joanne and Roy had explained to them that they weren't to bug him about anything concerning his family. Now she had unwittingly opened a complex issue. She wasn't at all sure how much information Lisa was aware of either.

"Why?" Chris asked his interest piqued. "And if Uncle Johnny had a family how come we never knew about them, only his aunt?"

_Oh boy._

Lisa answered before she could end the conversation.

"He didn't know about me. Johnny moved away before I was born."

"How come?" Chris insisted.

Joanne promptly jumped in. "Chris finish eating please. I'm sure if Johnny wanted us to know, he would have said something long before now. Which means," she paused giving her children a stern eye, "please remember the conversation we had on this. Johnny has a private life too, and it isn't polite to pry, understand?"

All three exchanged glances between them.

"But Lisa is Johnny's sis . . ." He protested letting it die when he got the 'Mom' look. "Yes ma'am," he mumbled. Polishing off the rest of his juice he asked, "is it all right if I call Ryan, after breakfast? I wanna be sure he's still coming to the arcade tomorrow."

"I'm sure if he couldn't he would already have told you. Wait until after nine before you ring him."

The conversation switched to arcade games, much to Joanne's relief.

As she waited for the kids to finish, Jo thought about last evening. She expected to be uncomfortable around Johnny's father considering what she knew about him, but instead, she found John Gage to be agreeable and a good conversationalist. Estranged, as the two men were, she admired how Johnny handled himself. She felt his tension, but he gave his father polite attendance despite the fact it took its toll by the end of the evening. Deliverance presented itself just when he needed a break. Her eyes took in her fair-haired daughter. There were times when Jennifer displayed an exceptional instinct toward Johnny. She knew when he needed attention.

She drank the last of her now cold tea. As soon as the kids were through, she sent them off, and began to clean up, pretty sure Johnny would arrive before the designated hour.

— — —

The odor of fried potatoes and coffee, mingled with that of stale cigarette smoke as Johnny wheeled his father into Vinnie's Café the following morning. Johnny personally knew the owner of the restaurant, and as he walked further inside his thoughts traveled back to the day they first met.

_Working out of 10's a call came into the station for a hunter who fell from a tree. Once on scene they discovered Vinnie had fallen eleven feet, his body snapping sturdy tree limbs on the way down. The impact with solid ground was merciless to injuries already sustained. They called for life-flight ten, his injuries serious. They quickly had him packaged, but the hike out to meet the helicopter took time. Vinnie remained conscious and he conversed with his rescuers much to everyone's amazement. What left an impression on the young rescue man was Vinnie's strength of spirit. At one point Vinnie said something that would stick with him. _

_"Hey you should a seen it, a fourteen pointer. I got so excited I forgot I was up a tree. Now, instead of a tree, I'm up a creek." _

_Vinnie had been right. At the hospital, they discovered he had a compression injury to his lower spinal cord which they __felt __ninety-percent sure would heal over time, a couple of fractured ribs, and a serious compound fracture to his right leg. Though the surgeons fought to save the limb, they didn't succeed. With Vinnie's recovery an extended one Johnny would check in on him. A friendship ensued between the two men. Confined to a wheelchair for a lengthy stretch while his compression injury healed, Vinnie appreciated the needs of the wheelchair challenged keeping this in mind when he opened up the café. _

Today the man in question welcomed them leaning on a pair of crutches. "Johnny, what's shakin'?" he asked giving a quick glance to the man in the chair. "I haven't seen you since you brought that good looking woman in here."

Johnny answered smoothly, "Do ya mean Olivia?" His eyes darted to his father, who must have found something amusing since he wore a smirk.

One of Vinnie's hands rose in question. "You got me, man. You're like one of them revolving doors, a new girl every turn." Johnny's look of surprise had Vinnie quickly adding, "Don't get me wrong brother, I only wish I had _half_ your luck."

"That's right, you wish," Johnny answered as only long term friends could. He noted his father's eyes rise slightly. "I could give ya a couple of pointers you know."

"Well said . . . fire boy," Vinnie chuckled. "Are you going to introduce me?"

"Vinnie Carlucci, my father, John Gage."

From the corner of his mouth Vinnie mumbled, "Jeeze, Gage, you could've stopped me."

The smirk on his father's face broadened into a smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you sir," Vinnie said, pumping his father's hand. "I apologize for the remarks I made. Someday a girl will come along, and Casanova will fall hook, line, and sinker."

"One can only hope," his father replied generically.

"Sorry Pisano, I couldn't help myself," Vinnie apologized as a slow creeping warmth flushed Johnny's face. "It's time for me to make a graceful exit." He maneuvered his crutches around. "Eva," he addressed a thirty-something waitress conversing with a few customers at the lunch counter. "Take 'em to table four."

"Sure thing." Coming from around the counter she picked up a couple of menus.

"Hey Johnny," Vinnie said, "don't wait so long to come back, will talk."

"Catch ya next time," Johnny promised.

"This way," Eva invited, giving Johnny a lingering look. "John Gage, fireman right?" She led them to a table with plenty of room for his father's wheelchair. Familiar with the waitresses who worked in Vinnie's, Johnny hadn't seen this one before.

"It depends on why ya wanna know?" He conveyed pleasantly, though baffled.

"Oh, sorry," She apologized in view of his puzzlement, "I have a sixth grader who attends M C. Middle. I volunteer on a regular basis, and was volunteering the morning you and your co-workers were up on the roof with the Clayton boy. A scary rescue; you were something else."

Johnny neatly changed the subject. "Thank you. It turned out well. You haven't been here long have you?"

As they settled themselves in, she set two individual napkin wrapped silverware bundles to the side of each place setting. "This is my second week actually." Sliding a pencil out from behind her ear and holding it against a small pad of paper she asked, "What can I get for you this morning?"

"Just coffee for me," Johnny told her.

"You don't want anything to eat?" his father inquired.

Johnny shook his head. "I'm not much for breakfast this morning, but don't let it stop you."

While his father placed his order, Johnny scanned the room. Aside from the counter patrons, a couple with a small child occupied a booth close to the front, two elderly women shared a booth further back, and two tables away, sat a party of five.

After retrieving both menus the waitress told them, "I'll be right back with your drinks. The food should only take a few minutes."

Once the woman moved off, Johnny asked, "What's this about?"

"Our relationship."

"Last time I checked we didn't have one."

"My point exactly, John." He said firmly, "If you're not interested in relationship building, why have you invited us here?"

Johnny fired back, "Why did ya insist on taking me back to South LA?"

Father and son stared at one another in a wordless showdown. Tension emanated from both roping them together in a tight connection, neither one willing to give ground. Long seconds ticked by. The rattling of dishes, muted conversation from the occupied tables, and the waitress calling out the food order filtered within hearing.

The stalemate was broken when his father spoke. "I am trying to heal, John. I can't do it alone."

"Alone? You have wife and daughter to help you. Your sponsor is a phone call away." Sourly he added, "I hope you're not expecting me . . ."

"What I expect is an answer to my question," his father said testily. "Why have you invited us here?"

Johnny appraised his father, leaning back in his chair. "I'm not sure my answer is what you wanna hear."

"Try me." Though his expression remained neutral, a slight twitch in his eye warned Johnny of his father's displeasure.

"Frankly, the invitation was for Lisa's benefit. Whether you saw it happening or not, she began to think everything you were experiencing was her fault."

His father's eyes narrowed slightly. "Did she tell you this?"

"It's my understanding from Liz; Lisa blamed herself for sending the letter." He paused. "The truth is circumstances were already comin' together for me to make my way to Montana regardless of her involvement. Her letter helped me arrive sooner rather than later."

The waitress returned with their drink order placing them quietly on the table before leaving. Johnny reached for his cup of coffee taking a sip. Hot and strong, he drank it black. When he met his father's eyes, he read disappointment there. He let his gaze drift from his father to the couple with the small child. They were preparing to leave; the little boy still in the highchair raised his arms to his father who picked him up, smiling.

The awkward silence between them lengthened. Johnny sipped his coffee; his father looked around the room. Pressing his wheelchair closer to the table his father broke the silence once again, "Yesterday Lisa wanted to know why you moved to LA."

The hardened emotional wall always present around his father cracked slightly allowing Johnny to glimpse his insecurity. "Whatcha tell her?"

"What do you think I told her?" A hard-line attitude and the personality to match rushed in to repair the crack. "I told her it was a story for another day. I'm not ready to see condemnation in my daughter's eyes like I see in yours." He reached out and picked up his water glass, Johnny noting the tremor in his hand.

"Whose fault is that?"

"Mine." The attempt to acknowledge the bitterness of past deeds caught Johnny off guard. "John, no matter what you think of me—or what happens between us, I won't deny Lisa her right to know who her brother is. Too many years have passed already."

The indirect reference to his aunt's deceit had him retaliate, "Your actions caused this train wreck. The role of a parent is to protect, and you failed miserably."

His father appearance carried an undeniable certainty of acceptance and pain. The elder disregarded his son's turn of phrase. "I understand the role of a parent is to protect." He searched his son's face. "As hard as it may be for you to remember, while your mother was alive you were protected John—and loved."

Giving no quarter Johnny said, "It's hard remembering when you consider what followed."

His father stiffened, sudden anger infecting his tone, "I don't need reminding. Beside you, no one knows the story better then me." A few heads turned in their direction and he lowered his voice his frustration clear. "What do I have to do to reach you?"

The manner in which he delivered the message triggered a physical response in Johnny. His hands began to tingle and a fine sheen of perspiration became visible. He knew the warning signs. His concentration swung inward to still his nervous tension, and his eyes closed to ward against the injured look his father wore. A cold trickle of moisture slipped down his back. With effort, he pulled himself together.

He missed his father's frown.

Johnny opened his eyes to find the waitress approaching their table. Neither spoke while she stood within earshot.

Positioning the food in front of his father, she refilled Johnny's coffee mug, ignorant of the whirlpool of tension churning around both men.

She cheerfully asked, "Can I get anything else for either of you?" When both shook their heads, she placed the bill face down on the table. "There's no rush, when you're ready."

Staring at the eggs in front of him his father made no move to eat. He sighed and shook his head. "I see I've made you uncomfortable, it wasn't my intent. I only want to…" Again, he sighed. "I needed your aunt's help. I sent you to California thinking it would be the better place for you."

"As you've already told me," Johnny reminded.

"There's more to the story, John."

"Then I think ya owe me an explanation." He demanded.

Long bleak moments followed before his father answered, "Rose may have disliked me, but it didn't extend to you. Because she was Grace's sister, I entrusted you into her care." He gave a bitter smile, "not that you needed looking after you had been doing so for sometime." His fork picked at the eggs on his plate. "I had only one stipulation for your aunt, and you're aware of it." He paused, "John, understand I became caught in a quagmire of self-loathing with no escape but through the bottle." He put his fork down moving the plate a little away from him, and sat back swiping a thumb across his brow. "Sending you off without an explanation or apology for my behavior was a grave error; my self-hatred deepened. I damned myself for every failure, every harsh action, and the indifference shown toward you." A hollow smile twisted his lips. "The mocking reminder I lost everything was in an empty house I no longer wanted to live in—your empty room—and in pictures displayed on the mantel. Culpability drowned me; my life spiraled out of control. I had driven everyone from my life. I had nothing left." He paused and looked into his son's eyes, willing him to understand. "You must have questioned why you didn't hear from me." Johnny detected a subtle shift in body language and his father's eyes—for a moment he couldn't quite place the emotion, then he recognized it. Suddenly his stomach cramped and the room shrank. What he saw was Shame. God, he sensed what was coming next. He tensed in anticipation.

"One night I called the house." His father looked away unable to meet his son's eyes. "When your aunt informed me you decided to cut any connection to me; I didn't question it, John. I believed you wanted this. That night I hit bottom. I wanted to stop the pain, the lies, most of all I needed to free myself from the black sucking void that was my life. I had enough." It was there in the depths when their eyes locked, the reality of what he attempted. "If I were a stronger person son I would have handled it differently. . ." The confession covered the space between them in truth.

Rocked by the disclosure, Johnny involuntarily sucked in his breath. _"Jesus," _He murmured, his emotions in turmoil.

"I met Liz while in the hospital, and if not for her . . . her belief in me had me taking the first step toward recovery."

Liz's words came to Johnny, "_There's more to this story than you know. I can say with certainty he suffered."_

His father's revelation buffeted Johnny with emotions he wasn't prepared to handle, emotions so foreign in association with his father he went into emotional lock-down. He sat still.

A distant far-away gaze sheltered his father a moment. "It took me longer than I anticipated breaking the shackle of addiction. Time passed. I wrote to you, and I tried calling." His eyes came back into focus. "You weren't approachable and who could blame you. You were filled with resentment with every right to be . . . so much time had passed.

Hindsight is . . . Johnny stopped and tried again unable to keep the unfriendliness from seeping in. "The benefit of hindsight is useless; too late it shows us what we should have done." He looked to the floor, "I-I can tell ya with certainty had you attempted to reach out to me—before I left—you wouldn't have been alone." Johnny inhaled and spoke slowly, "You chose to cast me aside, and here we are."

His father's hands tightened on the arms of his chair, "I"m sorry you continue to see it that way. I'm here now. I'm here because you opened that door when you came home. Don't slam it shut before giving us a chance. You asked me why I wanted to see the house. I needed to see where you finished growing up because you're not the only one in need of healing. I need to forgive myself. I need to put this to rest, with or without your help, and move forward. I owe this to Liz and Lisa, and yes, even you. I need you to understand who I am now, not who I was."

"Do you mind if we not talk about this anymore?" Johnny kept his composure, aware of where they were, though he knew he could easily slip. His hand nervously slid through his hair, "Your breakfast is growing cold."

Sensitive to his son's displeasure the elder Gage ended the discussion with one last thought. "Here's a truth for you," he said categorically. "You are my son, whether you want me as your father or not. I won't stop trying to find the middle ground. For everyone's sake we need to come to some understanding."

"Maybe," Johnny admitted, "maybe not."

His father began eating. "What time did we say you were picking up Lisa?"

It was hard to reconcile the man sitting across from him was the same man who terrorized his dreams for years. "Eleven." Johnny looked at his watch. It was only 8:20." He had a couple of hours yet.

"You can drop me back at the hotel when we're done." Using a napkin to wipe his mouth, his father said, "Tell me about your friend Vinnie, he seems quite the character. Did I detect a northern accent, New York maybe . . .?"

Johnny couldn't grasp how his father could go from one subject to the next, without batting an eye. Ten minutes later, reaching for the bill and rolling away from the table, he commented, "You ready?"

More than ready, Johnny stood without answering.

— — —

Though arriving forty-five minutes early to pick up his sister, it did not dampen the enthusiastic response he received at the DeSoto home. He found himself deposited at the kitchen table, presented with a glass of milk and two chocolate chip cookies, courtesy of the girls. They left leaving him alone with Joanne.

"Sorry I'm early," He apologized.

"Lisa's having a good time Johnny," Joanne said. "If that's what's worrying you."

"No. I knew she would."

"Then what's wrong? You look as though you pulled a bad shift."

"I had breakfast with my father this morning."

Joanne nodded. "Ah, explains a lot."

"It was awkward, but I managed," He commented.

"And?" She encouraged.

Playing with his cookie, he broke it half. "My father told me a few things I wasn't fully aware of. I don't know what to make of it."

Joanne studied him a moment before saying, "You don't trust him to tell you the truth?"

He shook his head. "No, that isn't it, he sounded sincere."

"Then you don't trust the man." It wasn't a question.

He nodded. "This morning he told me he won't give up trying to find some kinda understanding between us."

"Do you want to have some kind of understanding?"

"For Lisa's sake, I should."

"Johnny," She said emphatically, "you can't do this for anyone other than yourself."

"I don't know what to do."

"What makes you think you have to _do_ anything? To rebuild trust takes time. In this instance, it isn't something the words _I'm sorry_ can fix, but it is a place to start if this is what you want."

He played with his glass. "I don't know what I want—or what's right."

Joanne placed a hand on top of his. "Johnny, whatever you decide will be right, only you can't rush it, let it come naturally."

"Now you sound like, Liz."

Seeing an opportunity to instill some lightness she said, "I found you're stepmother to be level headed and smart, thanks."

Johnny grinned suddenly feeling lighter. He dunked the cookie in his milk.

Joanne watched his action, chuckling.

"What? I'm hungry I didn't eat breakfast," He complained.

"Well, in that case," she said rising and going to the counter retrieving the cookie jar, "feel free to have some more."

— — —

"Thank you for inviting me Mrs. DeSoto," Lisa said as she stood saying goodbye. "I had fun."

"You're welcome. We'll see you tomorrow. Enjoy your lunch at the station."

"We will if Chet isn't cooking," Johnny answered.

— — —

The squad was gone when Johnny arrived at the station for lunch.

"Welcome to Station 51," Captain Stanley greeted his visitors. I hope your enjoying your stay?"

"Very much, thank you." Liz answered for everyone.

After introductions, Hank said, "Lunch is almost ready, courtesy of Mike here," He smiled at Johnny's look of relief. "I'll have John take you on a quick tour and then will sit down to eat. We never know when we'll get called out so we eat when it's ready."

The 'tour' didn't take long and within minutes, everyone found places at the table.

"Mike prepared sandwiches, Chicken and Tuna Salad." Hank told them. "Dig in."

"It is kind of you to invite us for lunch," John Sr. said.

"Family is always welcome here," Hank, answered. Though he knew the man sitting at this table had put his paramedic through physical and emotional trauma, John had invited his family to California; He would help support that decision.

The tree turned out lovely," Liz said. "What a special acknowledgment."

"Lisa," Marco said. "The ornament you made for the tree is very unique."

Johnny watched his sister smile with pride. He gave her a wink.

Talk revolved around what they did over Christmas and the making of the ornaments and scrapbook.

"Glad to have you back on Thursday, Johnny boy," Chet commented. "It just isn't the same when you're not on shift."

"Oh, I bet," Johnny answered, cryptically adding, "having pigeon problems?"

Mike snickered and Marco looked down at his plate trying to hide his amusement.

Liz, and his father looked confused "You have a pigeon problem at the station?" His father directed his question at Captain Stanley.

"Ah, Kelly why don't you get some more water," Cap suggested, and then answered his father. "I can assure you there is no bird problem plaguing the station."

"Daddy," Lisa explained, "Johnny told me, he and Mr. Kelly like to play jokes on one another."

Marco explained taking it further, "Yeah, these two like to see who can outdo the other in the prank department."

"I didn't start this war," Johnny mentioned.

"Sounds like a good stress release," Liz said. "As closely as you all work together it's needed."

Hank pounced on the chance to change the subject. "Exactly, it can be pretty stressful some days."

"I can imagine."

"What about earthquakes? Do you feel them often?"

It isn't—"

Klaxons rang out startling their visitors and effectively ending their pleasant lunch. Immediately all fireman were on their feet, including Johnny who stopped himself.

"_Engine 51, Squad 36 in place of Squad 51—traffic accident with injuries at the intersection of Washington Avenue and Dominquez Street. Washington and Dominquez, time out 12:39."_

Captain Stanley looked to Johnny as his men filed from the kitchen. "Take your time and finish eating."

"_Station 51 KMG-365," _Stoker responded in the background

"Thanks, Cap," Johnny said.

After the engine pulled away John Sr. asked, "Is it always like this?"

"There are days slower than others, sometimes we can get through a whole meal, sometimes not." He shrugged. "You get used to it."

"Tell us what other things you do as part of your job"

As Johnny began his explanation, he heard the dispatcher say, "_Squad 36 cancel, Squad 51 will respond to Engine 51's location." _Johnny thought it shaped up to be one of those days.

— — —

Ryan looked glumly out the window. He was waiting for his father's arrival and he was late. He tried to be happy when his father was around, but his father wasn't happy having to have someone present in the room with them, so he felt bad. His mother looked tired again, and he wondered if his father was the cause.

"Ryan, Uncle Rodger is late today. Maybe isn't coming," His cousin Stephanie said watching him stare out the window. She felt awful for her cousin, so much drama in his life. It left little doubt why her cousin suffered bouts of depression. Thank God her parents were 'normal.' "Why don't you have Mom find out for you? At least then you won't have to sit here waiting."

— — —

Margery placed the key in the lock but before she could use it, the front door was flung open. Rodger stood there, his face hard.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said. She walked passed him into the house. "If you're ready we can . . ." The way he stood staring caused her to falter.

"What have you been doing behind my back?"

"What? What's the matter with you. Nothing, I've been working." A slight tremor shook her voice. "I'm sorry you're late with your visit with Ry, but I had to work late."

"I'm not talking being late, explain this." He flung an open envelope her. She made an instinctive grab for it but it hit the floor.

Color fled as the name Schuler and Associates jumped out at her. She slowly bent to retrieve it her hands shaking as she picked it up. Her mind raced, this wasn't supposed to be delivered here until after the holidays. Fear replaced the confusion of moments before causing her to take a step backward.

He said slowly, "I had to sign for it." Delivered in as chilling a voice as she'd ever heard him use he asked, "When were you going to tell me?"

"Rodger please, it's not what you think it is," Margery said, no longer showing a brave front.

"It's exactly what it says," his eyes iced over. "I can read. You've filed for divorce, whose been helping you, Margery?

"N-no one Rodger."

"You aren't smart enough to do this on your own, whose been helping, Linda? Kevin?"

She shook her head in denial. The phone's ring startled them both. Shaking Margery answered it her eyes glued to her husband. "Oh, hello Linda." Her hand gripped the receiver. "Yes, Rodger's here, he waiting on me . . . no I'm fine just tired, long day at work." She glanced fearfully at Rodger, afraid to end her conversation. "Of course I'll bring him right over. Sorry for being late."

She hung up the phone.

Rodger said nothing at all, his closed silence more frightening to her than if he came up swinging.


	11. Chapter 11

_I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with 'em._

Forgiveness Factor

Written by: Kianda

Chapter Eleven

* * *

_This chapter adds a little insight into the relationship between Max and Margery._

* * *

The shrewd calculating expression along with his predatory stance paralyzed Margery.

Rodger continued to stare; the dead-silence lengthened. What was he waiting for? Margery was afraid to move, afraid to breathe. She stood frozen like a doomed deer caught in the high beams of an oncoming vehicle, waiting . . .

He did something so wholly unexpected she started at the suddenness of it, he laughed—the sound dangerously baron of emotion. "We have company."

Margery dared to turn toward the door peering through the long side window. A car parked in the driveway; a car she recognized. Concentrated relief surged through her causing her a moment of dizziness.

"Max has come to pay a visit," Rodger said moving off toward the kitchen, confusing her further with his instant change in mood. His body relaxed as his face cleared of menace, and his voice became mild in tone.

Margery hadn't moved. When the doorbell rang, she walked stiffly toward it. She opened the door on wobbly legs.

"Hello Margery," Max said quietly. He expected her to frown as she always did the few times he came to the house, but this evening it was different. She looked pale, strained. In fact, she looked relieved to see him. His instincts kicked into high gear.

"Hello, Max, come in," she invited adding to his surprise. "Rodger has been missing your company."

He moved inside the door keeping his voice low not sure where Rodger was. "I actually came to speak to you, Margery."

"Now is not a good time Max," she said her voice shaky. "It's my fault Rodger is late for his visit with Ryan, and he only has a half-hour left. "

His eyes narrowed, something was going on. "Listen, why don't I drop Rodger off for you, and then I'll come back. What I need to discuss with you is important."

She gave him a sad smile. Now he knew something was off the mark. He said sharply, "What's wrong with you?"

"Your sister has been keeping a secret, Max," Rodger said form the doorway of the kitchen. "Who would have thought?"

He glanced sharply at his sister, but directed the question at Rodger. "What are you talking about Rodger?" He tried to mask his concern, but did a poor job of it.

"Ah," Rodger said perceptively, "I see you already know. It's funny how everyone else in the family is aware of my business, but me."

"Rodger . . ." Max began his tone cautionary.

A false smile appeared. "You look worried Max. Don't be. My son is waiting for me. If you wouldn't mind I could use a ride."

"Rodger call . . ."

"No, let's go. Besides," he said almost pleasantly causing Max to quirk an eyebrow, "I have all night to speak with Margery, but less then a half-hour to spend with my son."

Max scrutinized his brother-in-law. Rodger tried hard to appear calm and relaxed, but Max wasn't buying it. When Rodger brushed past him and out the door, he turned to his sister. "Leave Margery," His tone, both hushed and urgent, left no room for argument, "tonight." He quickly shoved a set of keys into her hand. "Go to my apartment, or if not there, go to Kevin and Linda's after we've come and gone. Don't stay here, at least not tonight. You can return tomorrow after work."

He followed Rodger out the door not at all confident Margery would follow his advice; after all, she hadn't taken in the past, but he would be certain to give her enough time to do so if she chose.

— — —

Was this run number eight? No, Roy corrected himself, it made nine as he sat in the back of the ambulance with yet another patient on the way to Rampart. Larry followed behind them in the squad non-code R. In-between runs the two had managed brief stopovers at the station, enough for a quick cup of coffee, but then it was out the door again. Three of the nine responses were coverage's for other squads beyond their normal service area. Roy enjoyed working with Larry, but he was no Johnny. On long days like this he missed having his regular partner.

"We're almost to the hospital, Mrs. Newbern; the doctors there will fix you up in no time."

"Posh." She waved a hand in dismissal. "Didn't anyone teach you not to fib an old lady? I haven't just arrived on the turnip truck you know. Though you mentioned I needed an x-ray to be one hundred percent certain, I'm certain. From the way it hurts. I broke my ankle. Dispense with the Mrs. Newbern, if you please, Alice is fine."

"Yes, ma'am," Roy said politely a smile forming. At seventy-six, his latest patient and her lively temperament reminded Roy of a woman half her age. "I'm going to raise the back of your stretcher so you'll be more comfortable, Mrs. Newbern, ah, Alice," he corrected. "Is the pain tolerable?"

"If it weren't you'd have heard me say so," Alice said. "Poor Mr. Rutherford," she explained whether Roy wanted to hear it or not, "will have to find another partner for the New Years Eve Charity Ball; not that he'll have any problem mind you. He's fine on the eye." She paused tellingly.

Roy's smile grew.

"I bet that sly _she cat _in the form of one Penelope Weatherstone—will waste little time snatching him for a partner. Ooh," she said frustrated, her small hands balling into fists, "These old bones of mine, on some days it just doesn't pay to get out of bed!"

Roy silently agreed with her especially on a day like the one they were having today. Usually a patient without an IV didn't necessitate a paramedic on board, but Brackett felt Mrs. Newbern's age required him to accompany her to the hospital. A few minutes later, they arrived at Rampart. This particular run he thought happened to be one of the least complicated of the day's responses.

Dr. Early met them in the hall. "This must be our ballroom dancer," he said looking down, smiling at the petite elderly woman upon the stretcher. "I'm Dr. Early"

"Hello doctor. You wouldn't know it now," said Alice addressing both men, "but back in my youth, I was no stranger to the ballroom dance floor." She chuckled, but then a look of irritation and pain replaced her laughter. "Today it appears I'm suffering from lack of grace; this is what age does to you young man, remember that."

""Yes ma'am," The soft-spoken doctor said, glancing at Roy in amusement.

"I'm here, let's get on with it," Alice commanded impatiently. "I haven't got all day you know, and I'm sure neither do you."

"Alright Mrs. Newbern, I will be taking care of you. I'm going to examine your ankle now, and send you to x-ray after I'm finished."

"Whatever you say, you're the doctor."

He signaled to Roy. "Treatment three."

After wheeling the gurney into the room and switching the patient over to the exam table Roy asked, "You need me anymore Doc?"

"No, Roy, go ahead."

"Thank you," Mrs. Newbern told 51's paramedic. "It isn't everyday an old submarine like me gets the attention of so many caring and handsome gentlemen."

"You're welcome," the paramedic said, "Is there anyone I can have the hospital contact for you?"

Doctor Early began lightly probing her swollen ankle. "My daughter Rosanne, but I'll wait until everything is finished before calling." She grunted as his fingers met a sensitive spot. "I'm delaying the 'lecture' I'm sure to suffer through for as long as possible." She sighed in exaggerated resignation. "My daughter feels the need to parent me, and this unfortunate event will only strengthen her resolve." She looked at Joe Early. "Well doctor is it broken?"

"I'm afraid so Mrs. Newbern."

"I knew it."

"Nothing else bothers you anywhere?"

"No, just this nuisance of an ankle, and call me Alice."

A nurse entered the room as Roy walked out into the hallway where Larry waited for him. "Let's get the supplies were running low on while were here."

Larry nodded. "Hopefully we'll be able to grab some dinner. I'm starved."

"You're not alone."

— — —

"Johnny and his family left around ten minutes ago," Dixie told them when they reached the nurses station. "His sister is a little sweetheart." She finished writing in her chart, put down the pen, and gazed up at them. "He mentioned he went to the station for lunch."

"We never made it back to the station for lunch. We were working on the Jonas boy. Speaking of, how's he doing?"

"Oh fine, he needed a nebulizer treatment, and some additional medication. He's since been released and home by now." She glanced at her watch and sighed, "where I should have been some time ago."

"I see your shift is going like ours," he said.

Larry jumped in, "Yeah, it's been nuts."

Dixie shrugged. "It happens some days. Look on the bright side, your shift will be over in . . ." she eyed the clock on the wall and realized her mistake immediately. They had hours yet to go. She looked sheepish. "Um, forget I said anything."

A smile hovered on Roy's lips. "We've come for supplies."

"What do you need?"

Roy opened his mouth to speak but Larry rattled off, "Another set of IV bags, NS and D5W, Curlex, first aid dressings: three and five . . .

— — —

"Squad 51 available and returning to quarters."

"_Squad 51." _

Replacing the microphone, Larry commented, "With a day like today what are the odds we'll make it through dinner?"

"I just wanna make it back to the station."

"If the pace continues it will be one for my record book. I've scored eleven runs in a single shift."

"Eighteen," The driver replied without enthusiasm.

"_Phew,_" Larry said eyes going wide, "let's hope it isn't one of _those _shifts."

The tones sounded. "You were saying?"

"_Squad 51."_ Both men reached for their helmets._ "P__ossible flu case at the gym, 347 Del Alamo Avenue. Three-four-seven Del Alamo Ave. Ambulance is responding. Time out 18:42."_

"Squad 51 ten-four." Lights and siren came to life. Securing the microphone and making note of the call in the log, Larry added blandly, "We almost made it."

When they arrived at the gym, a thirty-something male rushed over to the squad.

"What's the problem?" Roy asked opening the squad's side compartment taking out the drug box.

"One of our long-standing gym members complained of having tightness in his chest, shortness of breath, and some tingling in his hands during his weight lifting routine. He also said he was feeling sick to his stomach, and figured he was coming down with the flu. He looks off. I'm not one to take chances so I called you. An ambulance is on the way. Tony isn't happy about this, says I'm overreacting."

"Would you mind carrying this in?" Roy asked, handing the man the bio-phone. "Tony is the patient?"

The man nodded accepting the orange box, watching as the other paramedic grabbed a green canister, and a white case of some kind. "Yeah, Tony Giles."

"I wouldn't worry about overreacting. It's better to err on the side of caution . . . Mr.?"

"Cole, Cole Samson. I'm one of the gym managers."

"You did the right thing by calling us."

"That's what I tried to tell him. This way," he specified turning to his right once inside. Large posters on the wall encouraged one to 'stick with it and stay fit'.

They entered a medium-sized weight room, the smell of perspiration strong in the enclosed space. Weight equipment built for specific muscle groups, and designed to test the user, were spaced evenly around the floor. Roy noticed a young man looking ghostly pale sitting on a free weight bench. There were other members using the machines, and they stopped what they were doing to stare as the two paramedics made their way across the room.

"Cole, I told you this was a waste of time," Tony censured.

"Hi, Mr. Giles, I'm Roy DeSoto and this is Larry, were paramedics with the LA County Fire Department, I heard you were having some discomfort?"

"I told Cole it wasn't necessary to bother you."

"It's no bother," Roy said. "It's what we get paid for."

As he talked, he noticed Tony was shivering. Outwardly, it might appear he had the classic sign of flu, but what gave Roy pause was the fact he had tingling in his hands. Placing the equipment down near the bench he said to the manager, "Would you mind clearing the room?"

"Oh, sure, I should have thought of that earlier." He clapped his hands. "Everyone if I can have your attention, let's give the paramedics space and privacy to work. You can wait outside or you can use the other room, that's right, thanks," he said, waving everyone out the door. He told Roy, "I'll go wait for the ambulance."

As the room cleared, Roy began gathering information; Larry opened the bio-phone then grabbed the stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. "How old are you Mr. Giles? Roy asked, touching the man's forehead; it was soggy as a sponge with no heat from a fever.

"31."

He reached for his wrist. "I'm gonna get a pulse on ya here. How long have you been feeling ill?"

"It kinda hit me all of a sudden. I feel like crap to tell you the truth. Dizzy. My arms are heavy, as if I've over done the weight lifting. I was sick to my stomach forty-minutes ago, felt better, and decided to finish my workout. Now, I can't seem to catch a good breath. It's the flu bug going around, right?" Probably wasn't smart to have tried to finish, huh."

Roy refrained from commenting. "Pulse is 120 and thready, Larry. He placed his hand on Tony's abdomen counting respirations. "Respirations are 24. Let's patch him to the monitor," he said beginning to suspect something other than flu was happening here. "Tony, are you allergic to any medications?

The sick man shook his head.

"Alright, I'm gonna slip this nasal cannula on you and give you some oxygen. It should help you to breath easier. As a precaution, I'm going to place some patches on your chest so the doctors at the hospital can monitor what's happening."

This grabbed Tony's attention. "You mean like to rule out a heart-attack, man? No way," He denied suddenly agitated. "I'm too young, and in too good of shape to be having a heart attack."

"Easy, relax." When Roy pushed up Tony's t-shirt, it was a sodden mess. " This is just a precaution. We do it all the time, okay?"

Larry finished taking the BP. "140/85." he reached for the bio-phone while Roy completed patching him in. "Rampart, this is squad 51."

A few seconds later Dixie's voice came over the wire. "Unit calling in please repeat."

Dixie was still at work, Roy thought.

"Rampart this is Squad 51. We have a male approximately 31 years of age, who began experiencing a sudden onset of tightness in the chest, and shortness of breath during a weight lifting routine. He is complaining of dizziness and nausea with overall weakness in his arms. Patient states he vomited forty minutes ago. He is pale and diaphoretic. The skin feels cool to touch and patient is shivering. We have him on two liters of oxygen by nasal cannula, and we have him patched in ready to send a strip. Vitals signs—pulse 120 and thready, respirations are 24, BP140/85, both pupils are equal.

"Oh, man it hurts." Tony told him.

"Rampart, patient is experiencing increased level of chest pains."

"51," the deeper voice of Joe early came through, "Is there a history of heart disease?"

Tony's eyes grew wide. "No, way, is he kidding?" His respirations increased.

"Easy Tony, " Roy coached.

"Negative Rampart."

"Go ahead with the EKG."

Larry and Roy exchanged glances. "Rampart sending you a strip on lead two."

A brief pause later, "51, I'm reading ST with elevations in the II and III AVF. Start an IV D5W, and give 50 milligrams of Meperidine for pain, cover and keep warm, switch from nasal cannula to mask and increase oxygen to six liters. Is the ambulance on scene?

"Ah, as we speak, Rampart."

Two ambulance attendants were pushing a stretcher into the room.

"51, monitor vitals and transport immediately."

Tony at 31 was having a heart attack.

Looking scared his face mirroring his pain, Tony said, "It isn't the flu, I'm really having a heart attack aren't I?"

There was no getting around the answer so Larry said truthfully his eyes relaying compassion, "Yes you are, but we are going to take good care of you."

— — —

"You're tense."

"I'm not."

"Johnny, who are you trying to kid. If the tension were any thicker," Liz said disbelievingly, "the K-12 tool you told us about this afternoon wouldn't be able to break through."

"Oh, so you were paying attention," He grinned.

The two were in the indoor pool area of the hotel watching Lisa swim. Upon leaving Rampart, his father told them he felt tired, and wanted to relax before going to dinner. Liz suggested Lisa go swimming in order to give him the opportunity to rest.

"That's one thing you two seem to have in common," She said off handedly.

"Come again?"

"Whenever things get hinky in John's life, he first tries to divert attention away from the problem, like you."

He watched his sister befriend a younger child who joined her in the pool, they were the only two currently in it. The child's mother sat at the pools edge, her legs dangling in the water, watchful.

"Hi, my name is Lisa?" He heard her say. "What's yours?"

Freddie," the child answered.

"Can I get you to admit something John?" Liz's question drew him back.

"Do you have something to say, Liz?"

"Yes."

"If I said no, I doubt it would slow ya down any."

She studied him for a moment before speaking, "Most of your energy is being used in an effort to remain unaffected by your father's company.

His lips thinned. "I think you're off base."

"Maybe, but the headache last night didn't get by me, and I'm thinking this morning's breakfast was probably more stressful for you then last evening, so why did you feel it was so important to have us here?"

"Did my father put you up to this?" Hardness infiltrated his tone. "The question sounds familiar."

"Johnny I'm not trying to rile you. And no, he didn't. I'm asking because I'm worried about you."

"Don't be."

Liz's eyes took on a clinical look, though she spoke softly, "I am. I am because I think you are denying feelings here. Your father has gone through rehab, and is struggling to move forward. You're stuck. The young child in you wants to know his father; the man in you won't allow it. You are constantly at odds with this, and you'll remain so until you get in touch with your anger."

He held back the retort forming in his mind. Rationally Liz made a strong case.

"I know," She placated, seeing his disgusted look, "psychobabble is the last advice you'd want to hear, but will you allow me to suggest something?" When he didn't respond, she said quickly, "If I overstepped my bounds, I'm sorry."

Displaying cynicism he said, "Really? It's something you do with regularity where I'm concerned, and I have to question why."

"Ouch. There's a reason I push Johnny, and she's swimming in the pool."

His eyes searched until they came to rest on the wet head of his sister. She was showing her new friend how to doggy paddle.

"She loves both of you. Her young mind is trying to sort out the tension between you. She recently asked your father to explain why you two aren't friends. She wanted to know if his being an alcoholic was the reason you left. I can tell you, your father wasn't ready for such a question. Her eyes followed her daughter as she spoke. "The two of them, Johnny, have always shared a close relationship, she is Daddy's little girl—"

He felt the full weight of her statement. "Do you think I would jeopardize her relationship with him?" He shook his head offended by her suggestion. "She won't find anything out from me." While every child needed a dose of reality now and again, he believed the innocence of childhood should stay intact for as long as possible. His ended unexpectedly so he understood the pain associated with shattered childhood dreams. His sister burrowed into his heart, as assuredly as the DeSoto children had. "You think—"

"No, you misunderstand me, of course you wouldn't," Liz assured him, moving around in her seat before settling once again. "She is beginning to piece together the story; once it's complete I fear she may reject him."

"That isn't my problem," He snapped.

Her raised eyes had him apologizing. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it the way it sounded. Are you asking me to do something about it before hand?"

Impaling him with her prominent blue eyes made even more striking by the florescent lighting in the room she answered, "No, nothing of the kind. I'm suggesting you analyze why you are holding onto your anger. In a few short months, whether you appreciate it or not, you have already started the process of healing. Your past once exposed to the light of truth cannot go back into hiding, Johnny. Search inside yourself and listen. In this instance, trust less in this," she emphasized her meaning by pointing to his head. "and more with this," She pointed toward his chest. "The answers are there for you to hear." She rose leaving the statement to mix with the humid air of the room.

"Think less with my head and more with my heart? You're talents are better suited for a room with a couch."

She gave his shoulder a reassuring pat, and went to join the young mother at the edge of the pool. She introduced herself and the two started chatting.

Expressively familiar advice shifted, then settled his mind. "_John, whenever you are plagued by difficult problems only you can answer, still your mind and listen; the heart is a great counselor."_

Johnny blew out a sigh. Liz made perfect sense and so did his Aunt Rose's long ago lesson. He sat there and considered the possibility his aunt had listened to her heart when she decided to keep father and son separated.

— — —

"What do you think my brother is going to do, Max?"

"What can he do Linda? Margery wants this."

"You know what I'm asking you, don't play dumb," Linda said impatiently keeping her voice low.

The two waited in the kitchen while Kevin and Rodger were in the in the living room with Ryan. Once assured it was a circumstance not of Rodger's making which caused him to arrive late, Linda allowed his full hour.

She had seen a change in Rodger. Rodger tried making his son feel comfortable when the two were together, and Linda knew it wasn't manufactured for their benefit. As of yet Ryan remained unconvinced.

"Margery looked positively relieved to see me so something in his initial reaction must have spooked her. I tried questioning him on the ride over here. He wouldn't discuss it with me. He's relaxed with Ryan." He shrugged. "My guess is he'll try to talk her out of it. He's been warned and knows what will happen, and not just by the law, should he slip up." Linda heard the steel in Max's tone and leveled questioning eyes at him, he didn't elaborate.

"People change Max," she said hoping Rodger would, and knowing Margery had. "The biggest change I see with Margery is her realization her world doesn't begin and end with the man in there. She has pulled herself up in such a short period of time, but even I was taken by surprise at her filing for divorce."

"I told her to leave the house tonight Linda; I gave her the keys to my apartment."

"Really, and she accepted them?"

"I didn't give her the opportunity to give them back. She may come here, who knows. She's better off steering clear of him tonight, regardless."

"Margery isn't willing to be a punching bag anymore, Max, I'm sure she'll take your advice."

He certainly hoped so.

— — —

"Margery's off someplace, the car is gone." Rodger sounded irritated.

Max hoped this meant Margery had left for the night.

"Why don't you come inside and have a beer. You've been keeping a low profile since my release."

"I've been in and out of town on business."

When Rodger opened the front door, he flipped a switch to illuminate the room; Max noticed an envelope sitting on the entrance table. Rodger did too, and picked it up. "Well," He said, crumpling the note in undisguised anger. "My wife has decided to spend the night elsewhere, and return tomorrow evening. She thinks I need a cooling off period."

Max said firmly, "You probably do Rodger, let's talk."

— — —

Margery let herself into her brother's apartment. It felt odd being here. Four years ago, he moved into this apartment complex off Delores Ave. She hadn't been inside, not once.

She dropped her over-night bag on the floor near the door. She took off her light jacket draping it on the back of a kitchen chair. She placed her purse and his keys on the table and looked around. Max had no decorating style. With its oddly mismatched thrown-together furniture, walls bereft of artwork, and the absence of homey comforts, the one bedroom apartment lacked cohesive style.

On a side table in the living room a grouping of pictures caught her eye. Here, he had paid meticulous attention to detail. All frames matched. Each photo on the table arranged in a particular order and dust free. Another group mounted directly to the wall highlighted a time when Max was truly happy. In this grouping were pictures of his ex-wife Cathy, and their only child Laura. Tears welled in her eyes as she gazed lovingly at her precocious young niece, recalling a beautiful little girl with a huge smile. An aggressive blood disease claimed her life so young.

A horribly sad time for everyone, she watched from the sidelines as Max struggled to make sense of it all. Irrevocably altered by the loss, unable to withstand the internal pressures thrust upon them, Max and Cathy's marriage fell apart with divorce the inevitable outcome. Breaking contact with everyone, Cathy moved back to New York where she was from.

Cathy and Margery had been good friends. She blamed Max for not trying harder to keep Cathy in California. She needed a friend more than ever. Rodger began to display emotionally unstable moments that frightened her, aggressively controlling every area of her life. The two friends kept in contact in the beginning. Time, and Rodger's interference caused the intervals between phone calls, and letters to grow longer; they became sporadic, and finally stopped altogether. Recently Cathy remarried moving on with her life.

Almost losing Ryan on the roof of the school building, and his near fatal car accident brought to light the pain Max had endured. The unimaginable well of grief Max and Cathy suffered over the loss of their child, was still with him. She began to see Max in a completely new light. Unfortunately, she didn't know how to approach him to open dialog between them, and the opportunity slipped away. Max tried to come to her aid when she was hospitalized, and again when Ryan had surgery; but angry at her own weakness in standing up to Rodger, shame at allowing the behavior to continue, and then feeling guilt over what happened to Ryan, had closed her off to his overture.

She wiped tears from her eyes and recognized her own likeness in a few of the frames, and that of their parents, both gone. She studied the face of her surrogate father, Elliot Barrett. She didn't remember her biological father. He was a trucker, and died in a trucking accident when she turned three-years-old. When she turned five, her mother married a widower ten years her senior who had an eleven-year-old son. She had an instant brother, but six years separated the two of them in age. It might as well have been fifty. They were nothing alike, and had little in common. Margery painfully shy an introvert; Max an extrovert and always looking for adventure largely ignored his sibling by marriage.

Both parents employed widely different parenting skills. As a result, her mother's tight control over her helped facilitate a wider gap. Her mother believed that a woman's place was in the home, and one didn't hang loose with boys even those related to you. This caused Max to avoid her for fear of crossing his stepmother. Her mother made it plain that the raising of her daughter was her responsibility, and though her stepfather showered her with love and attention, he wouldn't interfere with any rule—fair or unfair—placed on her by her mother. Observing Max enjoy freedoms denied her caused a deep resentment to form. A kinship never materialized.

She viewed one last picture. This picture was of a teenage Max and Rodger. At the age of fifteen, Margery, met Rodger for the first time and he turned her head by his good looks, and smooth-talking tongue. Max cautioned Margery from getting involved with him, but she didn't listen. Five years later Margery would marry Rodger against Max's advice, further alienating them.

Her thoughts fled when a light knock on the door made her stiffen. "Margery are you in there?"

When Margery opened the door, Max moving forward into the room said in surprise, "I expected you to ignore my advice."

"I wasn't sure what I'd do until I found myself sliding the key into your apartment lock. You gave me your only key. What would have happened had I gone somewhere else?"

"I would have slept out in the hallway." Her appalled expression made him laugh. "Really, you are gullible. The superintendent lives on the first floor; I would have had him open the door for me."

"This feels really strange Max, you and I talking."

"Something that is long overdue."

Thirty minutes later Margery showered and dressed in sweats and an over-sized t-shirt, sat curled up on the couch with a pillow nestled under her arm, and a glass of wine in her hand explaining, "With Rodger in prison it was as if a veil lifted from my life, and I began to live. Do I make any sense? I can't allow Rodger to control me anymore. Ryan needs me to remain strong."

"So far you appear to be sticking with it," Max told her. "Is this divorce something you really want?" He took a sip from his beer thinking her budding self-confidence needed a chance to take root.

"No, but it is something that must be, Max. I've finally accepted Rodger isn't good to be around, he sucks the life force from you, breaks you down until there isn't anything left. Ryan has witnessed enough violence in his life. John Gage helped me see I didn't need to remain trapped in this situation. He really has been a positive influence in Ryan's life and mine," she added. "Do you mind if I ask why you remain Rodger's friend when he's driven everyone else away?"

She could see him debating his answer. A haunted almost painful expression crossed his face. "No matter who he's become, I remember who he was." He took a long swallow from his beer. "He's the reason I'm alive today. How do I walk away from someone who saved my life?"

— — —

Rodger sat alone in an empty house, his irritation with Margery continuing to grow. Tomorrow his wife would explain herself.

— — —

_He was lost. Stumbling around in the dark, he needed to find a way out. Normally his directions inside a burning building were instinctive; he just knew where an exit lay. Not this time, and time was running out. Somehow, he'd taken a wrong turn in the old abandoned building and lost Roy in the process. _

"_Cap, I need some guidance in here," He called over the HT._

_The sizzling sound of popping wood as it heated and expanded, ceiling tile dropping, and the beyond oven-like temperature, started having an affect. Panic began to whisper at his senses. "Today might be the day," he told the smoke condensed air._

"_If anyone is listening I need help!" He shouted once more into his HT._

_Nothing._

_The smoke tripled in thickness in just a few seconds and flame began to trespass into the area. _

"_I'm in here." His visibility down to zero due to the black smoke, he crawled on all fours using the wall as a guide. His near panic breathing was unrestrained. He crawled as quickly as he could, the heat sapping his strength. Sudden anger seized him. Where was his partner, where were his shift-mates? He couldn't believe they would just leave him here to find a way out on his own. He came to a dead-end, and he had to retrace his steps, only problem, the flames had taken over the space behind him. I did not picture myself going like this. Caught in a collapse maybe, a repelling accident, yeah, an explosion a definite possibility, but to die in a fire because I lost my bearings just doesn't jive. Defeated he sat back against the wall and watched death advance. _

"_John this way," a muffled voice shouted._

_Cap had come for him; he shouldn't have doubted. Guilt crushed him. He scrambled to feet. _

_The figure before him vanished and reappeared playing hide-n-seek in the heavy smoke. He followed only to realize Cap was leading him toward the wall of flames and not away._

"_We can't go that way Cap!" he shouted._

"_It's the only way out, John." The words were barely audible. "Trust me."_

_His life hung on trust. He clamped down hard on his panic, and tried to sallow his anger at Roy for leaving him. Without reservation, he held his breath and followed his superior through the flame._

_The instant the unbearable heat from the orange molten pyre enveloped him, he thought he was going to die. A scream formed in his throat, and his legs began to buckle. Unexpectedly strong hands gripped him, and yanked him forward into a blessedly cool shower of water. Roy and Captain Stanley supported him under the shoulders, and helped guide him out. _

_As his panic subsided, his anger grew. Once outside Johnny removed his face mask, and angrily rounded on his partner his words running together in a rant._

"_What happened to you? You left me alone in there Roy. I almost bought it. Where were you? If not for Cap…Cap I thought we were goners. We're not burned", he said shrugging off his air tank and unbuckling his coat, "how's that possible?" _

"_What's that John?" _

"_Cap, when you brought me through how is it we didn't get burned?"_

"_Roy?" Cap asked, looking concerned._

"_Johnny you were alone." Roy helped him out of his coat and led the confused man to the squad._

_Visually looking for burns, Johnny realized his clothing was undamaged, and there wasn't a burn mark on him. He made to move past Roy. "That's not possible. Somebody is still in there!" _

_Roy held him in place with an iron hand. "Will you relax; I'm telling you nobody else is in there. We're the only ones here, and everyone is accounted for."_

_He staggered feeling lightheaded. "Sit down," Roy cautioned._

"_I can't believe you left me alone," he accused. _

"_Johnny, when I realized you were no longer behind me, I tried backtracking but you disappeared. The fire moved up quickly and with you holding the HT I had no other choice, I had to get help. Cap, tried contacting you but you didn't respond. We were looking for you when you gave us all a turn by finding your own way out, your coat on fire. See?" He showed Johnny a large blackened area on his coat." _

_Confused more than ever Johnny said, "Whoa, now wait a minute. Someone with a white strip on his helmet talked to me and led me out."_

_Captain Stanley squatted in front of him. "Since I'm the only one here that fits that description and it wasn't me . . ." He let the words dangle. "Sit here for a few minutes pal, and get your bearings, it was a close one._

"_Too close," he mumbled._

_Roy took his pulse. "Johnny you know fire plays tricks on the senses, makes you think one thing when it's really another. Did you black out?"_

_Johnny stiffened. "I wasn't hallucinating Roy, I know what I saw. I know what I heard."_

"_Okay, I believe you. Will you let me finish checking you out now?"_

"_You won't find anything wrong with me physically," he stated beginning to wonder about his psychological health._

The sound of rain hitting the bedroom window woke Johnny on Wednesday morning. He rolled over and lay still for a moment. He hadn't slept well. It had taken him sometime to shut down his overactive mind. When he finally did fall asleep he tossed and turned, bothered by strange dreams he could hardly remember. Fragments of one dream in particular teased the outer edges of his mind. Just when he thought he was on the verge of recall, the memory would slip away. He gave up trying to remember, and turned on the radio. The rain tapping an insistent hello at his window would keep Carson wet throughout the day, and possibly into the late evening hours. He wasn't bothered by the prospect of rain all day, he had planned on indoor activities.


	12. Chapter 12

_I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with 'em._

Forgiveness Factor

Written by: Kianda

Chapter Twelve

* * *

"I gave you fair warning. You should have taken the bedroom," Max said as he observed Margery trying to work the kinks out of sore neck muscles the following morning. She was in the midst of pouring herself a cup of coffee. She glanced up briefly. Pouring a second cup, she handed it to him. "I don't know how you take your coffee and there wasn't anything wrong with your couch."

"Yeah, sure, I can see that."

Margery felt out of her depth being in Max's apartment. Last evening her coming to his apartment was born from necessity; she hadn't gone to Kevin and Linda's because she wasn't up to answering questions Ryan would surely have asked. Max had encouraged her to call Linda to inform her of her whereabouts. She was indebted to her brother for allowing her to stay. Rodger had been angry and she felt sure had Max not arrived when he did, Rodger's temper would have controlled him like so many times in the past.

"I'm grateful to you."

"I don't want you to feel duty-bound to me, Margery; one of us having this issue is enough. You were in a tight spot; I gave you a way out, no need to make anything more of it."

Margery took stock of his meaning. "It's a shame you don't take your own advice. Over the years, you have done more for Rodger than most of us. When are you going to call it even between you? He's the reason we—"

"Let's not go there."

You brought it up last night; I'm only trying to understand after all this time why you feel you still owe Rodger."

He returned a question in kind. "How can you still love him after all he's put you through?" At her startled expression, he said gently, "You may want a divorce, but I can see you have feelings for him."

"I'm married to the man Max. It's hard to break the connection. I have a child with him; it's different than two reckless collage kids."

"My moment of recklessness, Margery, caused Rodger his scholarship while I went on to graduate."

"Max, you made a mistake; for God's sake when are you going to forgive yourself for it? It isn't like he physically saved your life."

"To me Margery he may as well have." He turned away ending the conversation.

—

"Another half-hour and this is one shift I'm happy to see over," Larry said, exiting the squad.

Roy yawned. "At least this run didn't require a follow up trip to Rampart. You broke your shift record."

"Believe me, it could've waited."

"What are you doing here, Brent?" Roy asked entering the kitchen. The B-shift paramedic sat alone at the table with a cup of coffee and the morning paper.

"I'm covering for Tom this morning; he'll be in this afternoon. What's the matter, Larry," Brent asked sipping from his cup. "Did I hear you gripe. Working 51's A-shift too much for you?"

Giving Roy a covert signal, Larry bent down next to Brent and whispered, "Not the shift ma him." his eyes flicked toward Roy who 'busied' himself at the sink getting a glass of water. "Johnny has the patience of a saint. I can't believe I'm saying this, but there's someone worse than Brice to work with."

Eyes expanding to large saucers, the man at the table jerked upright and choked on his coffee. His face turned a deep red as he fought to catch his breath.

Alarmed Roy stood behind him and thumped him on the back. "Take it easy Brent."

Regaining his breath and composure, Brent looked directly at Roy, and then at Larry realizing they were putting him on. "Okay wise guys, you got me."

"We logged fourteen runs," Larry told him.

Brent shrugged. "Then this shift will be easy."

"You just jinxed the tour."

"No, it's a known fact at least around here, ask Roy. Weird stuff, and back to back runs only follow A-shift."

Larry looked to Roy for confirmation. The senior paramedic said nonchalantly, "Some days it happens."

—

"_Daddy's home!_"

Roy warmed to Jennifer's excited greeting. A morning ritual between them and balm for his soul, Roy would truly miss this once his little girl outgrew such things.

"Hi, beautiful, did you miss Daddy?"

"Um-hum," she said as Roy knelt and enclosed his arms around her in a fatherly hug.

She accepted his hug, and then took his face in her small hands giving him an intent appraisal. The grave concentrated examination reminded Roy of Dr. Bracket examining a patient. "You look baggy under your eyes Daddy, were there lots of fires yesterday?"

"No honey just lots of folks needing help."

"Did you help them all, Daddy?"

Roy's mind flashed back to a response they had involving a male teenager who had rolled his vehicle down a ravine, and he pushed passed the lump in his throat. Jennifer suddenly hugged him tight sensing his mood. Her face took on a somber pucker "I'm sorry I made you sad, Daddy."

At times, her perceptiveness caught him off guard.

"You didn't pumpkin, I promise." He gave her another hug and then straightened his tired muscles protesting. "Where's your brother?"

"Upstairs. He's a lazybones in the morning. You need to get to bed, Daddy, cuz you gotta rest up if were going to Fun Land."

Roy smiled at his daughter. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Jen, you forgot to put your cereal bowl and juice glass in the sink," Joanne reminded her. "Please do it now."

"Sorry, Mommy." She scampered toward the kitchen.

"She's right you look whipped," Joanne said placing the laundry basket she carried on the floor. She slipped her arms around him, and gave him a good morning kiss. "Rough shift?"

"Umm, this feels nice," he sighed in appreciation. Hugging her closer he whispered enticingly, "we could sneak away."

"Roy!" She whispered fiercely blushing, "not with the children awake."

"To bad," he breathed giving her a more sensual kiss. Giggles from their daughter made him break contact. Rubbing his eye he smiled, and finished answering her question. "We tracked some mileage."

"If you're finished putting your dishes away, Jen, go up and tell your brother I want him ready to leave in a half-hour."

"Okay mommy."

"No coffee for me," he told her as she prepared to pour him a cup. Sliding into a chair at the table he said, "you want to hear the topper to this long shift?"

"I'm all ears," she said placing an oven mitt on her hand, and opening the oven door.

"Three-thirty this morning the station is returning from a canceled run up in Jackson heights, when Larry spots a car off the road. We investigate to find a woman in the backseat, in the final stage of labor."

"Oh my," Joanne exclaimed, carrying over the warm plate setting it down in front of him. "And in this weather too. How scary it must have been for her."

Roy nodded removing the foil covering his dish to reveal scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. "She tells us afterward she was having abdominal pains on and off all day. Since they weren't regular, and her water hadn't broken yet, she didn't think she was in labor. This is child number three. Her husband is out of town on business, so when her water does break she leaves the kids with a neighbor and takes off for the hospital. The neighbor's husband offers to drive her but she tells him she has plenty of time. She timed her contractions to twenty-five minutes apart, and the hospital is only fifteen from where she lives. She didn't factor in the weather. Because of the heavy rain, her car hydroplaned after hitting a bad patch of wet road, and she wound up stuck in a ditch. Before we happened along, she'd been waiting for someone for nearly an hour. Larry barely had enough time to position himself before baby Michelle made her grand entrance into the world."

"Wow!" Joanne said, "She is lucky she wasn't injured; not to mention there's nothing up that way. She owes her rescue to a canceled run. The craziest things happen when you and Johnny aren't working together."

He scoffed, "Johnny and I have clocked some pretty wild days too." He stifled a yawn.

"I won't deny that."

He thanked her for his breakfast and looked wearily down at the plate picking up his fork. "I barely have enough energy to eat this. All I want to do is shower and hit the sack."

"It will be quiet for you. You'll have the house to yourself this morning. I'm heading to the market just as soon as I can get your son motivated."

He said between bites, "I don't think the kids making noise will be a problem today. Make sure I'm awake by four o'clock."

—

Rodger slammed the receiver down, promptly ending a conversation with his parole officer. The man was impossible. He didn't care to listen to why Rodger wasn't able to get a ride to the employment agency this morning. He proceeded to give Rodger a lecture on keeping appointments. This was Margery's fault, he thought nastily. She was supposed to drop him off this morning. If they would just return his license, he wouldn't be beholden to anyone for rides, and he would have been able to follow Margery last night. He obsessed over where Margery spent the night. The more he thought of his wife's absence the more he wondered if she had met someone while he was in prison. Max hardly ever came to the house knowing how Margery felt about him. Obviously a few things other than Margery's attitude had changed while he was in prison. Yeah, he reasoned, her seeing someone else would explain her wanting out of the marriage, and suspicious behavior of late. The morning loomed long. He turned on the TV and settled back to watch games shows. In an hour he would call his son, maybe he could learn something from Ryan. He wanted answers, and today he would find out one way or another.

—

Rain continued to fall throughout the morning and into the afternoon. Occasional wind gusts would send the rain in wild directions washing down streets while the runoff traveled swiftly through street gutters disappearing into storm drains. Storefront awnings fluttered in the wind, and traffic lights swayed and danced upon wires. Spray from traffic passing over soaked roads caused a white misty haze to hang low over the area. The dull gray sky, and chilly temperature reminded one it was the month of December, prone to sharp temperature changes. After visiting the museum and a few other areas' of interest, Liz liked the look of a few smaller shops deciding to explore them. A little rain wasn't going to deter her from bargain hunting. In this section of town, the mom and pop stores were intermixed with business offices and specialty shops. Most stores still had the look of Christmas about them. Johnny and his father remained in the rover, neither inclined to follow the girls inside. Through the rain-speckled windshield, Johnny watched as a pedestrian tried in vain to keep his umbrella from folding up whenever a gust of wind came along. Giving up the frustrated man closed the damaged umbrella, and tossed it in a nearby trash receptacle. He lifted the collar of his rain coat, hurrying his pace.

"I didn't think it rained much in Southern California," hs parent said idly.

"It rains, especially this time year."

"Our visit went by quickly; I know Lisa has enjoyed herself."

"I hope so."

Conversation lagged. Johnny went back to looking out the window. A strengthened gust of wind buffeted the Rover and rain drummed against the roof sending sheets of water running down the windshield distorting his view.

"I want you to know, I appreciate the time you've spent with us."

Johnny nodded. It was unsettling sitting in the car having an ordinary conversation with his father.

"You have built a good life in Carson from what I've seen. Everyone I've met has spoken highly of you."

"I suppose I have you to thank for it."

"Oh?"

"Thinking back on where I was headed, had you not sent me packing, none of this would have been possible. Aunt Rose kept me on the straight and narrow, and kept me in tune with my heritage. It's the one unselfish thing ya did for me in those four years."

John Sr. again chose to look out the driver-side window trying to screen his expression, but his face reflected in the glass gave him away, and Johnny saw a man in emotional pain. The sight made him uncomfortable and he averted his eyes.

Switching topics his father asked, "what sparked your interest in firefighting and becoming a paramedic?"

"Don't you know?"

"No, should I?"

Johnny shrugged. "I thought Aunt Rose kept you informed."

"She told me you joined the department, not the reason for it."

He answered as he always did when anyone asked this question keeping the more complicated reason under wraps. His hand absently strayed to his neck for a necklace no longer there. The faces of his mother and Shannon wavered around the edge of his periphery. "I started hanging around the station closest to the house about six months after arriving. The guys; they took me under their wing. A year later it was something I decided I wanted to do." The vision of the two women faded the further he went into his explanation. He hadn't planned to give an in-depth reply but found himself doing just that. "There wasn't a paramedic program when I first joined the department. As a rescue man in the trenches, my partner and I pulled victims, some of 'em seriously injured, from all kinds of situations; from wrecked cars, burning buildings, hiking accidents—highly aware time was a critical factor. All we could do after basic first aid was load 'em into an ambulance and hope for the best." He paused in remembrance not seeing the rain, but the ill-fated run that pushed him toward becoming a paramedic. He refocused. "We lost a man I thought we'd saved. Subtly it ate at me. I felt I should be doing something more. There had to be a better way. When recruitment for the paramedic program began, I decided to check it out. I didn't know Roy then, but he was one of the recruiting representatives for the program. He talked, I listened, and before leaving the room I signed up for training."

"And now that you are a paramedic, has it made a difference?"

"The program isn't without flaws. But in the six years it's been going, countless lives have been saved and it's improving all the time. The individuals we load into an ambulance have the advantage of immediate medical intervention. We don't always save everyone, but I know from experience being on the receiving end, it can make all the difference."

A wistful expression crossed John's face. He knew of two times his son lay at death's door; discovering from Rose how very close he'd come to dying. The young man seated next to him had surmounted more than his share of hardship and prevailed. "I'm proud of you son."

Taking praise from his father just a month prior would have generated an automatic negative response. Today he kept silent. The angry retort absent.

Conversation stayed within safe boundaries, and soon the girls returned.

"Did your mother tell you I will be working tomorrow, so I won't be able to see you off at the airport?"

"Mommy told me."

Johnny sensed Lisa had something on her mind. She had been attentive and interested in where they went and what they did, but at times, she appeared remote and deep in thought. After dropping off their parents at the hotel, they headed to the Browns. The wipers steadily cleared rain and road-spray from the windshield. By chance, they were keeping time with a Beatles song playing on the radio.

"What has you thinking so hard, squirt?" he questioned.

"I'll tell you once I finish thinking about it."

"Oh," Johnny chuckled. "I'll stay quiet then."

Changing her mind, Lisa blurted, "No, its okay; how come Ryan needs you for a big brother?"

He lost his smile, his face becoming pinched and drawn. "What?"

"Ryan, you take him places, and spend time with him right?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I want to help him."

"Is it because his dad isn't nice?"

"Where did you hear that?"

"Chris DeSoto."

Of course, Johnny thought, children talk. Curious he asked, "How come you two were discussing Ryan?"

"I saw a picture on Chris' dresser, with you, Chris, Jen, and another boy. I didn't know who he was, so I asked Chris; he told me it was Ryan Clayton. Clayton was the name I add to the Christmas ornament, and I heard Daddy mention to Mommy 'bout you helping him. Chris told me they are friends and he would be coming with us to the arcade. We talked about stuff."

He gave her a sidelong glance. "What kind of stuff?"

"His daddy drinks, and isn't very nice."

"Did he say anything else?"

She nodded, and told him what happened at the breakfast table when Jennifer spotted her necklace. "When Mrs. DeSoto said you had a private life and we shouldn't discuss it, I got to thinking how ugly Daddy must have been too you when he was drinking, that's why you want to help Ryan."

His indrawn breath audible, Johnny looked sharply at her, then put his eyes back on the road. _Damn he hadn't seen this coming_. In the brief eye contact, he saw knowledge in those eyes. His stomach dropped. This wasn't what he wanted for her especially in light of what he recently said to Liz.

"Lis "

The tight set of her shoulders, the stubborn tilt to her chin along with crossed arms confirmed her agitation. When she said, "tell me the truth don't treat me like a baby." Johnny knew he had his hands full.

"I tried asking Daddy, but he wouldn't talk about it; its true isn't it. I mean there are rumors of kids in school whose mom or dad mistreats them." Her eyes never left him. "Its true isn't it," she asked again. "Daddy mistreated you. That's the reason you moved here and aren't friends now."

Her statement loaded with emotion kept him silent, and she took this as affirmation. Her eyes filled with tears and she looked at him imploringly, "Oh, Johnny," her voice quivered, "why would Daddy do such a thing to you, his family."

The stomach-churning silence shattered when Lisa sniffled. Her tears tied him in knots. She trusted him to tell her the truth.

Three streets over, and they would be at the Brown's house. An an answer couldn't wait. He pulled over to the curb and parked. He slowly turned the engine key, silencing the motor. He sat another moment before he reached for a hand that she now held tightly clenched in her lap. Sensitive to her age and reasoning, he began, "Honey, I haven't treated you like a baby. I won't start now. I don't want ya hurting over this. What took place happened before Dad, met your mother. Way before you came along. It was a different life, and another time, the situation not easy. What ya need to understand and remember is Dad loves you and your mother; he would never harm either of you, do you understand?"

"How can you be so sure?" Eyes usually radiating sunshine held shadowed doubt; big round tears hovered on her long lashes, plopping upon her jacket when she blinked. "You trusted Daddy, and he hurt you." She dropped her gaze, looking depressingly at the floor, pulling her hand from his.

"Lisa, look at me," he said quietly, but firmly.

When she raised water-pooled eyes, he wanted to hug her distrust away; this worry shouldn't be a part of her life.

"Dad isn't drinking anymore. I won't lie and pretend everything is fine between us, because you know it isn't. Dad, and I are working on it. I do know with one hundred percent certainty, he loves you and wants what's best for you, so don't doubt it okay?" He knew the opinion she had of their father had been stripped bare and there wasn't anything he could do about it. Their father no longer sat upon the childish pedestal of perfection. The rat known as guilt gnawed at his insides. He would have to explain this to Liz and his father.

Lisa futilely swiped at tears rapidly being replaced by others. "Now I know why Daddy hasn't been happy, and why Mommy took us to Colorado, and you—" She shuddered, "I' I'm sorry for making you come home Johnny."

"Come here." Folding her within the comfort of his arms, he soothed, "I could never be sorry for having you in my life."

When she calmed, he told her, "There are tissues in the glove compartment," then added, "Lisa I need for you to do something. I don't want you worrying about me, understand?"

Lisa didn't acknowledge him right away. She sat looking out the window, and then half turned toward him. "I'll try."

"Do you still wanna go to the arcade?"

She nodded. "Johnny?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you ever be happy around Daddy?"

"That's one question I haven't an answer too."

"Thanks for not treatin' me like a baby."

Johnny nodded, then nearly smiled. Seeing her reflection in the side view mirror, she sounded all of eight. "Jeeze, everyone is gonna know I've been blubbering."

—

"Mom stopped by earlier making sure I have enough money for the arcade," Ryan said.

"That was good of her," Johnny said.

"She asked me to say thank you from her, ya know, for taking me."

"No problem. I get just as much kick out of playing the games as you guys."

During the drive to the arcade, the rain gradually let up in intensity changing to a light drizzle. In the distance, a rainbow arched across the sky, and he pointed it out to the kids in the backseat. He hoped the weather would continue to improve. Occasionally, he checked out his sister through the rear-view mirror. Having recovered, she seemed back to her old self, but Johnny knew his sister would forever have the knowledge of his father's dark past.

—

Rodger scowled at the clock, waiting impatiently. After ringing the house to tell him she was leaving work early, and would be home soon, Margery still hadn't arrived after an hour. It only took fifteen minutes even in heavy traffic to get home from where she worked, so where in the hell was she? He had thought of little else all day. He was determined to find out whether she was seeing somebody else. The thought of her kicking him aside in favor of some other guy, burned like acid. The phone conversation with Ryan revealed nothing other than fire boy taking him to the arcade later. He had searched the house for information and came up empty. Max would know he thought suddenly, reaching for the phone. The slam of a car door grabbed his attention. Hanging up, he went to the door.

Margery was home.

—

Max sat at his desk playing with a cup of coffee and doing some heavy thinking, oblivious of the business being conducted around him. His co-workers shot him quizzical glances but didn't disturb him.

"_Why did you take the rap for me?" Max demanded, his eyes shooting fire. "You know what they will do. They will revoke your scholarship, and kick you out. I need to fess up Rodger, and tell them it was all my idea to change the grades."_

"_That will only result in both of us being kicked out," Rodger said calmly, patiently. "Besides, you did it for me, tried to help me, and I can't forget that. Do you really want to be added to the list list of complaints they have leveled against me?"_

"_I can't let you do this for me."_

"_You can and you will Max, this is your ticket out. If you don't take it, you're a fool." _

He had taken it of course, and watched while his friend was disgraced and as a matter of course, dismissed from the university. His phone jangled and he reached for it putting an end to his musings.

"Max Barrett."

"Max, he's going crazy!" Margery screamed into the phone.

Max stood so quickly the chair he sat upon was knocked over, gaining the attention of his cubicle mate.

"Margery get out of there." Max was furiously scribbling on a pad.

"Help me Max!" she sobbed, and then the line went dead.

"Max, everything aright?"

Grabbing up his coat he shoved the pad into his co-worker's hands. "Ray, call the police and send them to this address, do it now. I've got to go."


	13. Chapter 13

_I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with 'em._

Forgiveness Factor

Written by: Kianda

Chapter Thirteen

* * *

_Physical pain pales in comparison to the emotional heartache caused when the one person you counted on to love and protect you is the very one inflicting the pain._

* * *

Nearing the house Max saw an LA County Sheriff cruiser parked in the driveway. The absence of medical help twisted his stomach into a hard coiled knot. Where were Margery's neighbors? He would think at least one of them would be curious enough to inquire about the trouble. He parked street-side racing up the short driveway. Not bothering to knock he opened the door. "Margery!"

"Hold it." A police officer barred his entrance into the house by stepping outside and closing the door. "Who are you?"

"Maxwell Barrett, the woman's brother. How is she?"

"Sir, do you have ID?"

_He isn't answering my question. _The tight knot in his stomach became painful. "Officer, my sister how is she?" Max opened his wallet and hastily pulled his drivers license card, handing it to the officer.

"Mr. Barrett, she's in the living room with my partner," he said, returning his license. "She's fine, just shook up." He stepped aside and let him pass.

A broken lamp, the telephone yanked from the wall outlet, and a few things scattered around the floor, were proof Rodger had lost his temper. His sister sat at the sofa's edge dabbing at red puffy eyes that were black rimmed from her smudged mascara. She appeared uninjured. The breath that he had been holding left him in a long relieved sigh, the painful knot coiled tightly in his stomach began to release it's grip.

_Maybe prison taught you something after all Rodger. _

"Margery are you alright? What happened? Where's Rodger?" Both police officer and Margery looked his way.

"I'm alright Max," Margery assured him.

"Sir, we're almost finished here." The officer's manner communicated to Max his questions could wait.

"Mrs. Clayton, I understand your husband is on parole. Does he still reside at this address?"

"Yes."

"And aside from a few things being tossed around, your husband left without striking you?"

"Yes."

"Then," Carson's law enforcement officer admitted, "there is nothing more we can do here. Your husband hasn't violated his parole. Until he actually—"

"Does bodily harm, I know."

"Yes, Ma'am," he acknowledged. "Since this isn't the first time a domestic complaint has been investigated for this address, you may want to give serious consideration to filing a restraining order. If you feel your safety is an issue in the short-term, you may also think about spending the night away from the home to let the situation cool down. Your husband is on foot," he said writing in his notebook. "Where do you think he went?"

"To a bar more than likely," Margery replied frankly.

The officer clicked the pen and placed it inside his uniform coat pocket. "Your husband left on his own Ma'am. Under the circumstances it's the best thing he could have done." He signaled his partner. "We're finished here."

"Thank you," Margery told him.

"Call us if you should need us, Ma'am."

Once alone, Max asked, "what are you keeping to yourself, Margery?"

"Oh, Max," Margery cried with more emotion than she had speaking with the officers. She attempted to smooth down her hair, and Max saw her hands were shaking. "Rodger has it in his head that the divorce is because I've met someone else."

"What? Where did he get this wigged out idea from?"

"I don't know. Rodger was good and worked up when I came walking in the door. He'd been drinking and he talked nonsense, saying he suspected I was seeing someone else. He wanted to know who it was. He has convinced himself I want this divorce so I can be with this phantom person. I tried reasoning with him—telling him he was imagining things, but he wouldn't listen. He said if he found proof I was seeing someone there would be no place for me to hide."

"This is nuts Margery," Max said shaking his head. "I talked with Rodger last night. He didn't show any signs of flipping out over the divorce."

"Max, you and I both know, Rodger can be very convincing when he has to be, but there's more," she continued looking down at her hands, "Rodger hates Ryan living with his sister. He called Ryan today. Apparently, Stephanie had to coax him to the phone. Whatever they discussed set Rodger off." She took a deep shaky breath. "He hates being 'babysat' during visitation, though he's only had three. He asked Linda to give them time alone while they are in the house, and she refused. He's jealous of the time that others have with him." Margery lifted her head to look at Max. "He absolutely despises John Gage, and the fact he comes and goes with Ryan. He ranted about Linda going against his wishes by allowing the mentoring to continue. He said he mentioned this to her months ago. He went on about how he is sick and tired of no one taking him seriously, that he feels invisible and put down by all his family. He said he may as well be back in prison with all the restrictions he has to deal with."

Max shook his head. "He can't see the forest for the trees. He's as stubborn as they come."

"I tried calming him down, Max, I did. I asked him to have patience, this was only the beginning stages, it would get better. I tried to assure him he would be given added time with Ryan as the year advanced, and once he had a job things wouldn't look so bleak. Nothing I said registered because he was so worked up. I decided to call you. When he saw me talking on the phone he lost it. You can see the result. I locked myself in the bathroom afraid he'd lose all control."

"Obviously he didn't.

"No, not this time Max. He shouted at me and banged on the door a few times, though. After a while, I heard the front door slam. The police arrived shortly after." She kept her brother's steady gaze. "I can assume you sent them?"

Max nodded.

She threw up her hands in agitation, "I don't understand Rodger anymore. I can't explain his constant state of restlessness." She sat silent for a few moments her face clouded by worry. "I know he's only been home for a short period, and I thought given time he would relax, but he's been miserable, nothing I do helps. His behavior has been so erratic; I never know what will set him off. The last few days he's taken to leaving the house late at night, and he doesn't return until three or four in the morning. When I asked him about it he said it wasn't any of my business, though he wants me to account for every minute of my time." Her eyes misted and she dabbed at them once again. "I had hoped his being incarcerated would force him to see just how well he has it, but it only changed his quick tempered blow-ups to a more insidious and controlled anger, I'm frightened more than ever by this."

Max, his face and voice expressing one of frustration started to pace, "None of this makes sense Margery. The conversation I had with Rodger yesterday didn't hint at this kind of behavior. He was angry over the divorce sure, and he couldn't understand why you would abandon him." He saw his sister frown and added swiftly, "His words not mine. He hoped he could get you to change your mind, but not once did he mention you seeing someone else, and John Gage's name never came up. The fact Rodger left suggests he understood he needed time to cool—"

Max watched as the color drained from his sister's face her eyes drawn to something on the carpet. Her purse lay open on the floor between the coffee table and the sofa with it contents scattered, her wallet open, but it wasn't her rifled wallet she was upset over. Her eyes moved past it to stare in alarm at an empty open shoe box lying beside it.

"Margery what is it?" He asked startled by her pallor.

"Rodger found it," she whispered unsteadily retrieving the empty box.

"Found what?"

Margery saw appalled enlightenment enter his eyes as they rose in response to her apparent distress. "Jesus, Margery, tell me I'm wrong that you weren't foolish to have—"

"A gun in the house?" Margery burst into renewed tears, nodding.

"Good God, Margery," Max blinked too shocked for words.

"Max, you don't understand," she said jumping to her feet in panic, words tripping over her tongue in her haste to speak. "I- I...he...that's why Rodger left. He knows where Ryan will be."

"What does Ryan—"

"He's at the arcade with John Gage and his sister."

"I'm still not following . . ." words trailed off as fear wormed its way into his voice. "Rodger can't possibly think . . ."

"That's just it; I don't know what he's thinking." Her voice rose to an almost hysterical pitch. "The last thing he shouted before leaving was he wouldn't lose Ryan through a divorce."

Physically taking her by the shoulders Max said sternly, "Calm down Margery. Rodger needs a vehicle and yours is still out-front, he won't get far. I'll go to the arcade."

"I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not, you're staying put."

"Max, Ryan is my son!" she argued.

"The son you no longer have custody of." Seeing her hurt expression he added, "I'm sorry to be so blunt Margery, but now is not the time to argue."

Her mind swirled with disjointed thoughts. _I need to call the police. What if he takes Ryan? _In the next instant she felt disloyal for having such thoughts. This was her husband, not some random stranger.

She hadn't realized she spoke aloud until Max assured her calmly, "I won't let him take Ryan anywhere. Give me a chance to find and talk with him Margery before we involve the police again today. Once we involve them there is no going back."

He saw her indecision. "Max—"

By the time you get to a phone to call them," Max said, waving at the broken phone jack heading toward the door, "I can be at the arcade. And besides," he continued, "Rodger could have gone to the bar like you told the Sheriff. We don't know for certain he's headed to the arcade. How long has Rodger been gone?"

"Long enough. Please hurry, Max."

As he drove away she unconsciously chomped her lower lip weighed down with indecisiveness. She had knowledge that the police would take seriously. Should she use it?

She argued with herself. If she hadn't purchased a gun, this wouldn't be an issue. If the police found Rodger in possession of a weapon, he would go back to prison, and she would have had a hand in putting him there. If she said nothing and Rodger wound up taking Ryan and fleeing the state, or if others at the arcade were injured, she would be held responsible for having kept the information to herself. The cost of such an action was immeasurable. Caught somewhere in-between them was Max. Even when Rodger was at his worst, Max held on refusing to give up on him. She had known Max visited Rodger in prison, even though he kept it to himself. If Max found Rodger at the arcade, what would he do?

She and Max had newly patched a very estranged relationship. It wouldn't take much to pull it apart again. She knew Max used to think of her as a mindless puppet at the hands of her husband, and Margery admitted she had been, but she couldn't afford to be the person any longer. Margery thought of Max's plea, _give me a chance to find him Margery._

No, she couldn't remain passive in this. Her son meant everything to her and she had failed him in the past. He was growing up so fast her little man. She promised herself she would become a better mother, and she owed that to her son.

She knew Rodger would act on impulse rather than think things out, and that was why he was dangerous. Suddenly chilled she rubbed her arms. It was still spitting rain and she was standing outside without her jacket.

She hurried next door and knocked—no one was home, the car was gone. She repeated this action with her neighbor across the street and received the same result. She hurried back to the house to retrieve her jacket, wallet, and car keys. There was a pay-phone at the market. _Forgive me,_ she whispered into the chilly air. Her soul ached. Emotions as fragile as a bird's wing gave way as Margery drove toward her destination. She swiped tears from her eyes—in a city as heavily populated as Carson, she felt very alone.

* * *

The bartender eyes followed the man as he hung up the public phone and make his way to the bar. "Vodka, double, straight up."

The bartender's expression never wavered. He could read people pretty well, and his latest customer was major-league uptight. He set the drink in front of him and the man immediately downed it without blinking.

"Again."

Refilling his glass for a second go-round the barkeep asked conversationally, "Bad day?"

The man stood and kicked back his drink. Even though he just arrived, he reached for his wallet. Slowly he pulled out the needed amount to pay his tab. "For me pal, everyday is bad."

The hair on the back of the bartender's arms stood straight up.

— — —

The taxi driver lifted his gaze toward the rear-view mirror checking out his latest ride sitting in the backseat. His passenger left him on edge. He couldn't pin it on anything in particular. Maybe it was due to the dark unfriendly scowl or the fact he was as silent as a grave. Picking up his fare in front of the Backroom Bar & Grill, the man gave an address and then remained closed-mouthed purposely ignoring his attempts to engage him in small talk.

When they pulled up at his destination, the man wordlessly paid the cab-fare.

"You have yourself a nice evening," the taxi-driver said pulling away. The air in the cab brightened considerably once free of its brooding passenger.

Rodger scoped the area before striding to the front entrance of Fun Land Arcade. Walking casually into the building, he looked around at the dozen or so people who were unaware of his scrutiny so engrossed were they in their gaming. Dings, bells, swishes and bangs were sounding everywhere. The occasional shout of frustration or disappointment from someone losing, cut the air. His son hadn't arrived yet, so he went back outside to wait. His plan was to take Ryan and get the hell out of LA.

* * *

They were running late and Roy inwardly sighed. Joanne, who had been on the phone with their former sister-in-law in Seattle, had sent Chris to wake up him up. Chris had knocked on the door, told him it was time to get up, and went to his room. Roy, had heard his son and acknowledged him, but had fallen back asleep. It wasn't until Joanne came upstairs some thirty minutes later with a cup of coffee, she discovered him still in bed. Another thirty-five minutes passed before everyone was in the car heading toward the arcade.

The gas meter pointed to empty and Roy gave his wife an annoyed glance. "Car's almost on fumes," He grumbled.

"I'm sorry Roy, it was raining so hard this morning I figured we'd fill up on the way to the arcade, never thinking we'd be late."

Seeing his wife's dismay, and feeling badly for it, he winked at her. He enjoyed seeing the pink sweep across her face. His falling back to sleep wasn't the only reason for the delay in heading downstairs. "Its okay, it isn't the first time we've been late meeting Johnny somewhere."

He revisited that statement as he waited in a line with six other cars. Five minutes in and he was fourth in line. At the rate the line was moving even Johnny would begin to wonder where the were. Whenever you are in a hurry, he thought, circumstances deliberately conspired with the cosmos to slow you down. "Well," He told his wife. "You can make it up to Johnny by not creaming him too badly today. "

"Where's the fun in that?" Jo said seriously.

"Uncle Johnny told me he lets you win Mommy," Jennifer said sweetly. "He told me it's 'cause when you win you always bake his favorite cookies."

"Oh really?" Joanne said, looking at Roy.

His wife's look of determination wasn't a good sign. _Oh, Junior you're in trouble now._

* * *

"This is the last time, Rodger," Max, mumbled aloud as he neared the arcade. "So help me if you're here . . ."

* * *

Suddenly alert Johnny looked around, unsure why the feeling of heightened awareness overcame him. He trusted this feeling at work. It kept him hyper-vigilant. If asked to describe this feeling he would say it was three-quarters intuition and one-quarter timing. The sensation of eyes upon him had him slowing his steps scanning the arcade parking area. A few vehicles were in the vicinity. All were empty. Lisa had recovered her sunny personality and she and Ryan were discussing which types of arcade games they were interested in. They didn't notice his preoccupation. Not seeing anything that would warrant his concern he broadened his scope of vision. As the group continued to toward the entrance, he observed a male facing away from him, with hands tightly clutched to his chest groaning; thinking this was the source for his unrest Johnny instinctively called out. "Sir what's wrong?" Something seemed vaguely familiar about the hunched over figure, but Johnny couldn't make out his face as a ball cap obscured his features. He hurried his pace passing the children. "Ryan, go inside with Lisa and wait for me. Sir, are you experiencing chest pain? I'm a paramedic."

"Dad!" Ryan squeaked.

The man straightened up, no longer in distress. Johnny looked on in confusion at a smirking Rodger Clayton.

* * *

Flashing lights came into view as Roy turned onto Recreation Road. As they neared the arcade, a police barricade prevented anyone from entering the main parking lot. Ordered to keep driving, he drove some distance before finding an unoccupied parking space in the bowling ally parking area. Curious onlookers were walking back toward the arcade. Prevented from getting closer by the heavy police presence, they automatically fanned out behind the barriers.

Roy, what's going on?" Joanne questioned, alarmed.

Chris had his whole head sticking out the window. The rain had stopped and the late afternoon sun was trying to poke through the thick clouds. "How come the police are out front of the arcade Dad? Couldn't have been a fire 'cause there's no rigs anywhere."

Roy answered his son distractedly, "I don't know son."

"Roy." Eyes wide Joanne whispered, "Johnny, and the kids are in there!"

Voice calm despite his rising unease he told her, "We don't know that for sure, Jo." Blue eyes held a veiled message. "Take the kids home. I'll find my own way back."

Sensitive to the abrupt storm of rising tension, Jennifer cried, "I wanna see Uncle Johnny and Lisa; I don't wanna leave!

"Dad," Chris tried to gain his father's attention.

Exiting the car Roy said, "Not now Chris. Go, Joanne."

"Be careful Roy," She nervously told him sliding into the driver's seat. "Call me as soon as you can, because if you don't I'll go crazy worrying." Carefully she backed the car out of the parking space and headed for the main road. The sound of Jennifer's crying cut him to the quick. Joanne tried soothing her and told her as she drove away, "hush sweetheart, everything is going to be fine."

He held onto those words as he sprinted toward the arcade parking lot. Fun Land, a family gaming complex housed a bowling alley, eating facility, and the arcade. When he neared the arcade, he jostled his way through the heavy bystander presence now gathered behind the police protected barriers. It mystified Roy as to why his fellow human beings needed to witness someone else's nightmare, or the possibility of violence taking place. He made his way to the front where a police officer forced him to stop.

"Hold it sir," the officer ordered. "No one goes beyond this point."

The curious onlookers who were closest to the front, and heard the officers' command, turned eyes to him.

"I'm LA County Fireman/Paramedic Roy DeSoto; my partner and two children with him, may be inside."

"Come with me."

Murmurs of speculation began running through the crowd.

Roy soon found himself squatting behind one of four police cruisers parked haphazardly in front of the arcade. An officer in his mid fifties, showing a slight potbelly, and thinning black hair crouched behind the squad car.

"Lieutenant, this guy says he's a paramedic for LA, and his partner may be the victim being held."

Those words injected fear into Roy.

The addressed officer gave Roy the once over, while Roy did the same to him.

"Why do you think this Mr. . . ?"

"Roy DeSoto," Roy showed his ID. "My family planned to meet my partner inside. Two children are with him. What's going on?" He wiped the sweat from his brow even though he felt chilled.

"What's the name of your friend?"

"John Gage."

"Officer Fitzgerald," the Lieutenant called to the man who had spoken to Roy. "Check to see if Mr. Gage is with the group of people who left the arcade."

"Yes sir."

My name is Lieutenant Ron Decker, LA County Sheriff's Department." The officer flashed his badge. "We received an anonymous call about a suspect with a gun, possibly connected to an attempted domestic kidnapping. When we arrived people were evacuating the arcade."

The two men waited in tense silence for Officer Fitzgerald to return. Roy knew he wouldn't be told anything else until his story checked out. When Fitzgerald returned, the officer shook his head glancing down at a notebook he carried. "Sir, there is no one that goes by Gage among them. He glanced at the lieutenant before consulting his notebook. "A couple of the witness's think they heard the boy refer to the suspect as dad."

Decker frowned at the news. A tight sickening sensation pressed in on Roy.

The Sheriff spoke into a portable police radio he carried, "Central, 2 Bravo 29 requesting ETA on SWAT at this location." He kept his eyes locked on the front door. "It appears your friend is in the thick of it. Our suspect is holding him and three others inside, two of them are children, a boy and girl. We think it may have be a attempted parental kidnapping, gone wrong. According to witness accounts the suspect was waiting for your friend to arrive. When your friend approached the entrance, the suspect pretended being ill. When your friend offered to help, the suspect made a grab for the boy. A second male approached and fighting ensued between them. Our suspect pulled a gun and assaulted the second male with it. The children ran into the building."

_"2 Bravo 29, ETA on SWAT is ten minutes. Commander Wallis suggests continuing communication protocol."_

His frowned deepened. "Copy, Central." Decker trained his eyes again on the entrance. "The suspect followed immediately, forcing the two males inside at gunpoint. Once inside our gunman forced everyone, except the three, to leave. He threatened to shoot anyone playing hero. We have been attempting to make contact. So far we haven't been successful."

As Roy absorbed the information, two more sheriff's cars rolled up.

"Tell me what you know. Is there a reason this guy would go after your partner?"

Roy could not believe Johnny was in the middle of a police incident. "The two children with my partner are his half-sister, Lisa Gage, and Ryan Clayton, a boy he's been mentoring. I could be wrong here, but it sounds like the boy's father, Rodger Clayton, may be responsible. My guess would be if the other male isn't a bystander, than it would be one of the boy's uncles. Didn't your caller leave a name? Witnesses's hear anything?"

"No," he said. "What's Clayton's beef with your partner?"

"Clayton spent six months in MCJ for a DUI/ child endangerment charge, the accident injured his son. Allegations are Clayton is abusive. My partner wrote a deposition for the court in the boy's custody hearing. Clayton lost custody, and Ryan currently lives with his aunt and uncle. A couple of weeks ago Clayton was released."

"Damn," the Lieutenant declared. "Not what I want to hear. Something drove the suspect toward this confrontation. Davis," The Lt. addressed another officer. "Make contact with Clayton's probation officer. Find out what you can about Rodger Clayton's release from Central Jail; what he has been up to, etc. Get back with me ASAP."

Roy knew Johnny wouldn't let anything happen to the children, but Rodger was unstable, there was no telling what his actions would be. Once inside the arcade, he must have known he was not coming out without being arrested, or worse. Guilt and frustration began to work their way through him. If he had been on time . . . . He refocused as Decker asked a question.

"The aunt and uncle have custody. Is there a mother in the picture?"

"Yes, but she lost custody as well."

"You wouldn't have contact information for any of them would you?"

Roy nodded. "Kevin and Linda Brown are the names of his aunt and uncle. I don't have an address for them. I can give you an address for the mother, though." Roy had committed it to memory. He rattled it off.

Decker wrote it down.

Decker turned to another officer. "Officer Rafael, give Kali in dispatch this information. Tell her to send a car to both the Browns, and the mother's house for notification. Have them come to the station."

"Yes sir."

Once again, Decker addressed Roy. "I'm going to try the bullhorn to get our suspect to pick up the phone. I don't know if it will even reach him. The noise level in the building is substantial. Stay behind the cruiser."

From the radio in the cruiser, Roy could hear one of the police dispatchers for LA County sending out squad cars on various coded calls. He looked to the police officers hunkered down behind either their squad cars or some other solid barrier, standing at the ready with guns drawn. They would have officer's stationed in the back of the building too. No stranger to situations like these, having responded to such incidences in the past, Roy understood how changeable they were. It seemed so unreal.

With Bullhorn in hand, Decker called into the arcade.

* * *

The phone wouldn't stop ringing and the the stages of noise in the arcade varied from time to time. However, it didn't detract from Johnny speaking with Max as he conducted a basic exam of his head wound. Max had been clearly disoriented and Johnny worried he had suffered a concussion. His surge of anger over, his attention focused on Ryan's uncle. "Are you experiencing any dizziness or headache Max?"

"Some," Max said truthfully. He was still processing the fact that Rodger actually hit him with the gun.

"Are you gonna be okay, Uncle Max?" Ryan whispered his young voice filled with concern.

Max turned to Ryan and Lisa, who sat huddled next to Johnny. Lisa stared at him with large luminous eyes filled with bewilderment and fear, the same expression his nephew wore.

He gave his nephew a small smile, "I'm going to be fine Ry. Don't worry."

Rodger ordered coldly, "I told you to move away from him." His sister jumped at Rodger's tone, and Johnny's anger returned.

Max watched Johnny closely. He complied by moving away and guiding Lisa with him, but his dark eyes missed nothing, and anger simmered below the surface.

His brother-in-law had been drinking Max knew, had been all day. This impulsive action was typical behavior from his his brother-in-law, when alcohol was involved. He had to try and reach him. "Rodger what are you doing? This is insane, man. Stop and we may be able to salvage this."

"And I'm the Easter Bunny," Rodger shot back sarcastically, the gun in his hand waving as he spoke. "This gift from Margery," he said indicating the gun, "will seal the deal. You can't help me anymore."

"It isn't to late. Let's walk out of here Rodger, before you get in any deeper. Margery told me what happened today. And for the record you couldn't be more wrong. As for this?" He said feeling his head. "It's just a scratch. Put the gun down and we'll walk out together."

"You don't get it do you?" Max laughed shaking his head. "Good old Max, always watching my back, tryin' to reform poor misguided Rodger. All these years you've been doin' it because you thought you owed me. And I let you think it."

His confusion evident Max probed, "What are you talking about, Rodger?"

Johnny hadn't a clue as to what was happening between these two, but whatever the problem Ryan didn't need to be hearing it, the children were being traumatized enough.

"Those cops out there aren't going to wait forever," Johnny said forcefully. "Think for one minute about these kids; let 'em go."

Rodger turned to him with piercingly hostile eyes, causing Lisa to bury her face into Johnny's side. His arm tightened protectively around her.

"Don't worry little girl," Rodger said, "I'm not the big bad wolf, come to eat you. Who is she? Another kid you feel sorry for?"

Johnny ignored his question. "You have made a huge mistake," he ground out.

"When I failed to grab Ryan, I knew it was over for me."

Johnny realized just how dangerous a statement this was. If Clayton felt, it was over . . . why did he try and kidnap his son? Why would he throw his freedom away?

"Listen man, you made a mistake but it's a correctable one. Give up now. Think about what this will do to your wife and son if you go back to prison."

There was a long silence as Rodger stared at the bent head of his son. "If I go back? It already a given, man. No one will care. I'm nobody to them. I'm just a screw up, a felon recently released from prison." His face turned hard. "Someone, whose wife wants to dump for another man, and a son who is forced to have a weekly visit with."

"For Gods Sakes stop it, Rodger," Max exploded."Can't you see what this is doing?"

Large tears dripped steadily down the young boys face. Johnny placed his free arm supportively around Ryan's shoulder.

Rodger ignored Max and trained his sights on Johnny. "I told you to stay away from my boy, but you decided to stick your nose were it didn't belong." He took a menacing step closer. "I'm sick of the name John Gage. Did you think I would just roll over and forget what you did? The letter you wrote? You're the reason I have weakly visits with my son."

"Your right, Rodger," Max agreed rising unsteadily to his feet. "He is the reason, but not in the selfish way you're thinking. This man saved the life of your son at nearly the cost of his own. Remember that." Rodger was scared. Caught in something he hadn't thought through, and having it escalate beyond his control, had Rodger needing to cast blame. The situation couldn't be more volatile.

"Sit down Max," Rodger demanded.

Max ignored him. "Rodger, give me the gun." He held out his hand. "This crazy attempt of yours has backfired. The police are involved now. There is nothing more to be gained. If you won't think about your son. I will. Don't do this to him. I've known you a long time, and I know you won't shoot me."

Rodger sneered, "Really Max?" he said waving the gun toward his head. "I gave you that. I'm already headed back to prison what do I have to lose?"

"Dad, stop!" Ryan shouted angrily. "Everything is your fault. All you are is a bully. You don't care about, Mom, me, or anything but your stupid self, and I wish you weren't my father!"

"_Rodger Clayton? I'm Lieutenant Ron Decker with the LA County Sheriff's Department. There's no place for you to go. I would like you to pick up the phone so we can talk. Can you do that for me Rodger?"_

Distracted Rodger's turned toward the sound. Ryan reacting to his father's momentary attention shift jumped to his feet, drawing his father's eyes to him. In seconds the situation changed drastically. Max seeing his chance barreled into Rodger, grappling for the gun.

Lisa screamed.

"Dad, Uncle Max, don't!" Ryan shouted, as the two fought over the cold steal.

Johnny lifted Lisa to her feet. "Run for the door now!"

* * *

The law enforcement officer tried again. "Rodger all I want to do is talk to you."

There was movement at the door.

"Hold you're fire!" Decker shouted as suddenly the front door burst open, and Ryan came running out dragging a sobbing Lisa with him.

"They're fighting over the gun!" Ryan shouted. Two police officers quickly scooped up the kids and carried them to safety.

Fear sucked the air from Roy's lungs.

"_Rodger all I want to do is talk to you."_

* * *

As the children ran to to door, Johnny turned to help Max.

"Not another step, hero." Rodger had the handgun pointed directly at him. Johnny froze in place, every nerve tingling, his heart in his throat. "Alright man, just take it easy. I'm not movin'."

"Damn you, Max," Rodger snarled. "You stopped me from taking my son. You should have stayed out of this."

Rodger had managed to overpower Max and now held him in a choke-hold applying just enough pressure on Max's windpipe to exert control.

Max struggled to speak. "C-couldn't. . . let . . ."

"Let him go Rodger or he's gonna pass out." Johnny said warningly, his mouth gone dry, afraid to move.

Max feebly attempted to remove the arm holding him immobile. His face began to mottle from lack of oxygen. Johnny didn't give him another minute before he lost unconscious.

"Rodger, ease up, Max can't breathe!"

Max went limp, throwing Rodger off balance. Rodger instinctively tried to keep his burden upright. The gun no longer pointed toward Johnny. Before Rodger recovered his balance, Johnny's hand snaked out and brutally flat handed Rodger's Jaw. With a cursed grunt, Clayton stumbled sideways releasing his hold on Max who fell to the floor. Born of desperation Johnny gave Clayton's arm a powerful blow that sent the object of deadly metal sailing from Rodger's hand, striking a game console.

The explosion of noise as the weapon discharged drowned out the other sounds dominating the room.

Johnny felt a deep stinging sensation in his upper right arm a brief second before he felt a potent punch near the midpoint of his chest causing him to stagger backward. A cool sensation of pain passed through the center of his chest—wrapped around to his back—and down his legs. His gaze dropped to his chest and he looked on in surprise as a bright red stain appeared on his shirtfront, fanning outward. The cool pressing pain, suddenly turned warm and then, excruciatingly hot. An invisible fist compressed his insides and his breath cut short. He listed sideways and vaguely felt himself falling to the floor. He did not feel the impact as he stared up at the ceiling, blinking slowly. The running of feet—shouting voices—drifted further and further away. A blinding burst of light consumed everything around him. It would be so easy to give in—fade away. Instead, he found the strength to focus and the room came into painful clarity once more. He managed to rise to his knees gasping for breath, nearly vomiting. His vision swam as he inched his way toward where Max lay on the floor, reaching for his neck. Rewarded with a pulse he bowed his head for a moment his breath coming in short harsh pants. He pressed a hand to his chest. He needed help and the fastest way he could get it his traumatized mind reasoned, was to go for the exit.

* * *

A single gunshot echoed from within causing everyone outside to tense, rooted to the spot.

"2 Bravo 29 reporting shot's fired; rear team move in." Decker then motioned his men toward the building.

Roy's heart tattooed wildly in his chest, as he wiped sweaty palms across his pants. His eyes followed Lisa who was crying uncontrollably. She was placed in the back of a squad car along with a protesting Ryan. The boy immediately put his arm around her trying to offer comfort.

Roy started to make his way inside. An iron hand held him fast.

"You can't go in there."

"I can help! and—"

"We don't where or if—"

Decker's radio sprang to life, "Suspect is on the move, rear door."

A series of shout and shots rang out this time accompanied by a radio call. "Male suspect is down, requesting ambulance."

"Copy," Decker acknowledged. "Sweep the building."

Officers cautiously entered the arcade, while Lt. Decker immediately relayed to dispatch the need for paramedics, and an ambulance to the scene.

* * *

Johnny distantly heard a couple of loud pops. Disoriented, he looked around, leaning heavily against the wall. He had made a critical miscalculation in judging the distance to the exit. Wave upon wave of dizziness assaulted him. Warm fluid seeped through ice-cold fingers to drip steadily on the floor. Remaining upright became a battle of sheer determination. Breathing shallowly, physical strength deserted him, and he dropped to the floor once again. The pain upon impact left him temporarily blind to everything else. Endless moments crept by before he was able to find the strength lift his head. The illuminated exit sign some distance away mocked him as it came in and out of focus. Shadowy figures moved. You can't have me yet, Johnny thought. He would not give up! If he did, the horrible event would forever brand Lisa and follow her rest of her life. Near at hand a pinball machine pinged, dinged, and whirred. Gathering what little reserve he had left, he attempted to secure a handhold by groping blindly at the consoles smooth surface. Streaks of scarlet marred the exterior. Pain at the movement turned his world a hazy red leaving him gasping. Still resolute, he tried forcing his unwilling body to rise, only to sag back to the floor in defeat. His mind hadn't counted on his body saying no. The pain with each breath sent him into a twilight world of pain.

From a vast distance, he heard someone talking, "_Buddy don't move. Keep still."_ A buzzing sounded in his ears as he fought to stay conscious. Thoughts became murky—why am I on the floor. _Sir__, if you can hear me an ambulance is coming. Stay with me." _

* * *

Impatiently Roy waited for the all clear. What was taking so long? Decker's radio sprang to life. "Lieutenant Decker sweep is complete. We have two men down in the rear of building. One with a gunshot wound to the chest. ID says John Gage; the other is a Maxwell Barrett, his injury is non-life threatening."

Roy stiffened at the news. Decker eyed him as he transmitted his need to expedite paramedics and two additional ambulances.

"C'mon," Decker told Roy, grabbing a first aid kit from the cruiser moving toward the entrance. "Do what you can until the paramedics arrive."

"Where are the children going?" Roy asked, seeing the squad car pull away. There had been no time to comfort the children. "My partner's family is here from out of town. Someone needs to notify them of what's happening."

Decker knew from past personal experience, the man beside him was going to great lengths to keep his emotions reined in.

While continuing his forward jog toward the building, the Lt. explained, "The children are being taken to the hospital as a precaution Mr. DeSoto. Once cleared physically they'll go to the sheriff's station. They are witnesses to a crime and hopefully will be able to recount what happened."

His fear for the children easing—they were in safe hands; Roy compartmentalized his emotions for what lay ahead.

Another officer inside the building met them. "Through here."

Dozens of different game consoles lined the walls. A few of them stood apart, placed near the middle of the floor for optimum playing space. These consoles they navigated their way around. Games filled the room with an assortment of flashing lights and sounds. As they rushed toward the injured men, Roy happened to notice a multi-colored banner wishing everyone a _Happy New Year_. Had the world gone crazy? Johnny celebrated Christmas with them only a few days ago. Would he make it to New Year? This could not be happening. The three men stepped around an air hockey table, passed by a shooting game called Outlaw, and finally circumvented an enlarged pinball machine, before heading straight to the back.

_If I hadn't overslept, I wouldn't have been late._ His mind kept turning the phrase around and around.

Two police officers saw them coming and stepped away, clearing his view. Seeing the blood sent another shot of adrenaline flooding his system, sharpening his senses. Smelling it soured his stomach. Despite his resolve to remain professional, he couldn't stop the fear. A young officer, who gave the impression of being straight from the academy and looking white, was helping Ryan's uncle into a sitting position. Max looked dazed holding his head. Johnny was face down and unmoving on the floor nearby.

When Max saw Roy, he said hoarsely, "God I'm sorry; I tried to—"

"Paramedics are on their way," Roy said his eyes giving him a fast look over, "take it easy."

"This is a crime scene," Decker warned. "Make every effort to keep its integrity."

* * *

_A grin plastered on his face he watched his mother, with the utmost of care, carry a fancy decorated cake toward him. Aglow with eleven candles, the individual flames wiggled, shimmered, and wavered in the darkened room creating soft ambient light. She steadily advanced toward him and gently set the cake down in front of him._

_A chorus of voices sang Happy Birthday. _

_His father reminded him, "Make a wish son." _

_For some reason his mother's words cut through the happy chatter and John heard them clearly. "Wishes are prayers that rise to the ears of the Great Spirit." _

_He thought a moment, took a deep breath and blew, his breath extinguishing the tiny flames in seconds. Darkness descended. Someone flicked the switch and bright light instantly illuminated the room once more. Young John's eyes burned with an inner fire all their own. His expressive eyes touched everyone seated around the kitchen table, his parents, the Fosters, his school pals._

_The happy image faded, chased away by the memory of his father telling him his mother was dead. This was replaced by his father seated at the kitchen table, the hated glass of amber liquor clutched in his hand. "Get away from me, boy, you're poison." _

_Another image took its place. He stood on the porch of his childhood home._

"_John, I don't know if you will ever be able to accept this . . . You did not cause your mother's death regardless of what I may have said while I was drinking . . . I apologize . . . the burden I bear is in knowing I have to live with the consequences my actions . . . I lost track of everything meaningful in my life for a while. It comes with a price. It cost me the respect and love of my son. You might not want to hear this, but the most precious thing I had I didn't see, until you were gone. I'm proud of you son."_

Muted voices penetrated his stupor.

"Johnny," Roy said, dropping to his knees at his friend's side—heart racing—oblivious to the blood seeping into his pants. So still. The rooms noise faded as the veteran paramedic mechanically searched for signs of life. His fingers against his partner's neck exposed a thin rapid pulse. Before turning him unto his back, he looked for injury. When he couldn't find a corresponding exit-wound, the eerily familiar scenario caused a momentary flashback to the battlefield. He knew the damage a bullet could inflict; he treated many such situations. Not moving him at all would have been ideal but movement came secondary to controlling the bleeding. Carefully keeping Johnny's head in line with his body and with Decker's help, Roy rolled him over. A feeble groan escaped. A chest wound changed the color of Johnny's once blue shirt to rust iron red.

"There's no exit wound."

"Ah, shit." Decker swore, considering the implication of the statement.

"Johnny can you hear me? Roy asked, noting the slight eye movement, "Look at me, junior."

Cautiously he unbuttoned Johnny's shirt to get a better view of the wound. He watched as the supine man with great effort opened unfocused eyes. He pulled the saturated shirt gingerly away from the wound. The scarlet liquid looked foamy and bright against the paleness of his skin. It bubbled and oozed from an enlarged entrance wound about 2 inches to the right of Johnny's sternum. A short angled gash, bleeding profusely, suggested the bullet rode along the surface of the chest before piercing the chest cavity.

Turning he addressed Decker softly, "Use one of your hands and cover the wound, until I get a dressing in place."

The sleeve of Johnny's shirt showed evidence of blood. Slicing through the material of his shirtsleeve being careful to avoid the actual bullet-hole, Roy saw a small entrance wound to the arm. He searched for a exit wound and found one, though it was larger. A through and through. Since he had heard a single shot originally, there was only one bullet. The bullet passed through the arm half-way between elbow and shoulder, skimmed his side, and entered his chest. An open chest wound, shortness of breath, and his ashen color, suggested Johnny had at least a partial right lung collapse—and was suffering from shock due to external and internal blood loss.

The paramedic encouraged, "Keep 'em open for me. Help is on the way. Stay with me, junior." _Please stay with me. _

Johnny lips parted his eyes rolling."My fault."

Decker was about to speak when Roy stopped him with a shake of his head. "You've had an accident, Johnny."

"I'm sorry."

To keep him talking Roy asked, "Why are you sorry, junior?"

"Poison, I'm poison."

Hearing those words caused Roy a moment of anger, which he quickly mastered. "No your not," Roy soothed, "and this accident wasn't your fault."

"Sorry." Coughing, accompanied by a moan of pain, brown eyes glazed over and fluttered closed. Fear had Roy quickly feeling for a pulse.

"Johnny?"

"Is he—?"

"No," Roy answered tightly. "Unconscious."

Decker asked, "How come he said that? Does he think he's responsible for the shooting?"

Delving into the basic first aid kit Roy immediately took measures to apply an occlusive dressing by improvising since the kit didn't come stocked with one.

"He's in shock. We need to keep him warm."

"Fitzgerald I have some blankets in the trunk of the cruiser," Decker told the hovering officer.

Roy worked quickly as he wiped the moisture from around the wound as best he could. Using the inside plastic portion of a sterile dressing, he taped the top portion and sides of the plastic dressing to Johnny's skin, leaving the bottom section free. With each indrawn breath, the dressing sealed against the wound's opening preventing air from entering, but allowed air to escape during exhalation. Johnny's breathing eased with the dressing in place.

He knew why Johnny said what he did; his ghosts were hard to put to rest. "Shock victims tend to be in a world of their own," he explained to Decker.

Gentle palpitation revealed at least two of Johnny's ribs were broken, both on the right.

Roy's mind raced, clinically assessing. If a rib lacerated the lung, air and fluid were filling the pleural space, and it became a bigger issue than just a pneumothorax, it expanded to a become a hemopneumothorax, which could be life-threatening. This required special handling via a thoracostomy. Johnny needed oxygen. He needed fluids and a fast trip to the hospital. He watched closely for signs of a tension pneumothorax developing or respiratory distress. Johnny's head must have struck the floor because he discovered a knot and lacerated scalp. Roy helped his partner as much as he was able with the supplies on hand. Johnny pulse was thready and his breathing rapid. He lost a considerable amount of blood and would need blood replacement. He felt very limited in his choice of first aid and he was growing impatient for help to arrive. Covered and logged rolled carefully onto his injured side, Roy held him in a recovery position speaking softly to the semi-conscious man, telling his partner Lisa and Ryan were safe, and that everyone expected him to fight. "_You hold on partner. Don't let go. You didn't in the past and you can't now."_

Stress evident in his voice Roy looked to Decker. "Where's the Squad?" 51 would be the squad to respond, unless they were already out on a call. The arcade happened to be within 51's districted area.

Decker's voice infused with his own emotion, spoke into his radio, "2 Bravo 29, requesting ETA for paramedics at this location."

_"2 Bravo 29, ETA on paramedics one minute."_

"Is he gonna make it?"

Roy couldn't push past the lump in his throat to answer.

Decker stood as another officer met with him. They were discussing Rodger Clayton. If they asked him to see to Clayton's wound, Roy honestly didn't know if he would have been able to grant their request. As it was they didn't ask so he would never know.

The shocked faces of his station-mates came into view, followed by two ambulance attendants. The group quickly made their way toward the bloody scene.

_"Rampart, this is squad 51. We have a male approximately 29 years of age the victim of a shooting_ . . ."

Max watched as Johnny's friends took over care of him. Roy spoke softly, calmly, though Max couldn't imagine how he kept it together. Johnny didn't look good. Would he make it? What had happened? Why did Rodger shoot him? He remembered fighting with Rodger over the gun, then nothing. When he came to, an officer was bent over him telling him he was going to be fine. He was told the children were fine, they managed to escape. At least he had accomplished something. He closed his eyes against the onslaught of emotions he was experiencing. After the death of his daughter he didn't think he could ever again feel such heart-wrenching sadness But he did. _God help me. I failed. _

* * *

Authors Note: _I used the fictional name of Fun Land, for the arcade setting in the story. A place called Go Kart World exists in Carson. However, it did not exist 1976. The arcade and famous 'Slick Track' sprang into existence in 1993._


	14. Chapter 14

_I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with 'em._

Forgiveness Factor

Written by: Kianda

Chapter Fourteen

_There is grace in forgiveness_

* * *

The odor of disinfectants hung heavy in the enclosed space of the ambulance, and the piercing volume of the ambulance and squad sirens only served to increase the thumping pressure in Roy's skull. He attempted to release the tight strain by moving his neck from side to side, and massaging his pounding temples.

It didn't help.

The ambulance horn sliced the air as it came to an intersection. The driver understood the need for a timely transport and his foot lay heavy on the gas.

Max observed Roy trying to ease his tension. He could identify with the vulnerability he was experiencing, the self-imposed condemnation, and '_you could've done something more_' feeling. He wanted to ease the ache in his own head, it throbbed where Rodger had struck him, his throat felt bruised, and his stomach didn't feel so hot either. He wouldn't complain; a little headache was nothing compared to what Johnny was facing.

Max watched the two paramedics perform their jobs within the cramped space of the moving vehicle. When pulling over to the side of the road for an ambulance with their lights and siren going, he would sometimes think some poor unfortunate soul was having a really bad day. Once the ambulance sped past, however, he dismissed it from his mind. Now a part of that scene he had a little more appreciation of what was taking place in the back of a rushing ambulance.

The paramedics conversed when required, but each worked quickly, concentrating on carrying out the instructions given to them by the hospital.

Johnny lay positioned on a regular stretcher strapped to a flat, long, and rigid board, a cervical collar around his neck. Pale and in pain his breathing remained shallow, disturbing to see, despite the care being given to him. Oxygen flowed into a 'nonrebreather' mask and two IVs of 'lactated ringers' were running 'wide open'. Johnny didn't seem to be fully awake, although, when prompted he responded. The injury to his right arm was bandaged and his limb rested in a splint. A machine monitored his heat rhythm, something Max was familiar with—the fleeting image of a pediatric hospital ward crossed his vision as the younger paramedic reevaluated 'vitals'. Blankets covered Johnny to keep him warm.

Max closed his eyes trying to make sense of what was happening. If he didn't see the result of Rodger's actions he still wouldn't have believed it possible. 'You're stupidly blind and selfish is what you are', he silently chastised. The failure to recognized Rodger's instability left him with a hollow feeling and deep regret. Had he been more involved in Margery's life, had he listened to Linda and Kevin's complaints about Rodger's abusive behavior, challenged Rodger sooner about his alcohol addiction, or God help him, offered his support when Ryan's depression first surfaced... none of them would be here now. Rodger would pull a long stretch of time for this, and the impact to his sister and nephew couldn't be measured in words. He felt warm fingers at his wrist and he instinctively opened his eyes.

"Max, you feeling okay?"

"I'm doin' all right."

A normal pulse rate beat under Roy's fingers. Physically Max would recover but knew he was far from_ alright_.

Roy returned his gaze to the small white blip of Johnny's heart rhythm pulsating across the data scope screen fast, but steady. _Keep it up Johnny._

The bio-com blared to life with Rampart requesting an update on Johnny's vitals.

His attention shifted to Ed. "Rampart BP is 90/65 p120 weak and regular, r24 rapid and shallow. Pupils are sluggish. External bleeding controlled through applied pressure. Patient is responsive to verbal stimulus. One minute out."

"We're almost there Junior."

Ed observed his riding companion; Roy stayed cool and focused in light of his partner's injuries. The sight of his colleague lying on the ground with gunshot wounds wasn't something he expected to see, ever, and it shook him badly. The image of it would stay with him for a long time. Hell, even Tom with his years of experience needed a collective moment. Roy's command presence was an oasis of stability for them both. His quick thinking and fast action gained precious time. Once on scene they were able to oxygenate Johnny rapidly, apply spinal stabilization, and load him into the ambulance for the quick trip to the hospital. Neither man questioned the off-duty paramedic's place in the ambulance. Before reaching the hospital Ed knew he should say somethin give some assurance, but what? Except for training exercises, the occasional fill in for Johnny, or a party they both attended, different shifts hampered interaction between them; however, these two paramedics were his station-mates and firefighting brothers. He fell back on the old cliché. "He's strong Roy."

* * *

Kelly Brackett stepped away from the base station and headed toward the ambulance bay. He had an operating room on standby with a thoracic surgeon on call.

When 51's transmission came in to the base station, he was startled to hear Roy's voice on the other end aware A-shift was off duty. When he discovered the reason, his hands gripped the base station counter until they hurt.

Caught in the wrong place at the wrong time he saw the result of many acts of violence pass through his ER, victims with faces and names unfamiliar to him. He heard the victims stories unfold through the drama of their injury.

This time the victim wasn't unfamiliar, he knew Johnny's story, had treated him numerous times for injuries sustained on the job. This was someone he respected, worked closely with, and considered a friend. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach settled and became rock hard.

Gunshot wounds were exceedingly unpredictable. Bullets rarely went in a straight, line—too many structures in the body altered the trajectory doing damage along the way. The mechanism of injury in this case, was a 22-caliber handgun—a medium velocity weapon. The fact the bullet had enough energy to pass through the underside of Johnny's upper arm and then enter his chest meant the gun had discharged within close proximity, at an odd angle. Oxygen and fluids were helping to maintain John's blood pressure, but he knew it could all change again in an instant. He ran through a laundry list of potentially life-threatening injuries.

Kel thought about the gunmen too. The perpetrator was escorted by two medically trained LA County Sheriff Deputies by ambulance to Rampart. Credit for this decision went to the Lt. in charge of the police operation.

Medicine didn't play favorites, criminal and law-abiding citizens received the same level of medical care but he was thankful, 51 had no contact with him. The suspect had been red lined straight to surgery with falling stats and gunshot wounds to the lower left leg and upper right thigh. The injury to his left lower leg, shattered bone and exited, causing heavy bleeding. The injury to his right upper thigh considered suspicious since the bullet didn't exit, therefore, it went somewhere and that somewhere was thought to be his left hip. He shook his head. If the man made it, he would need serious care.

If there was a plus side to this madness—it was time. From where the shooting occurred, it was a quick trip by ambulance when using lights and siren, and not knowing the full extent of John's injuries—time became a major player.

Nurses and staff continually walked past Kel on their way in or out. Those that greeted him were quick to note his obvious preoccupation.

He recalled a hard-line conversation he had with John after the Craven Rock Mine rescue. In light of what was happening he found it disturbing.

—

"_Ow," Johnny complained and unconsciously pulled away. "Something wrong, doc?" _

"_I see you far too often in this emergency room, John. What you decided to do on your own put you at unnecessary risk."_

"_What? If I hadn't acted who know couldn't be sure there was time to wait," Johnny defended. "I'm not just a paramedic, doc. The word rescue is part of my job title."_

"_Oh?" Kel said his arms folded in front of him. "What about the words partner, team, and scene safety?" _

_Sighing Johnny continued, "Dr. Brackett. I made a spot decision in a tight situation. What would you have had me do? Those kids wouldn't—"_

"_I recall having a similar conversation a number of years back with a brand new paramedic as green as they come." _

Kelly knew he had surprised Johnny by bringing up the long ago rescue when he had shut down the bio-phone link, because the man looked at the floor, but within seconds the well known Gage stubbornness had him lifting his head defending his action.

"_That situation was under different circumstances. You may feel what I did today was reckless, but you weren't there. Young lives hung on a decision I felt I had to make. Risk is part of the Job and I'll do it again when called too."_

_Kel's eyes locked with his paramedic's and a loaded hush fell across the room. The stare-down continued until he sighed in resignation. "That my young friend is why you are so effective at your job." Securing the bandage on Johnny's forehead he said, "this shouldn't give you any trouble, but if it does come back in. You can go." _

_Johnny hopped down from the exam table._

_The doctor walked to the door and held it open. "John, I want you to remember something." _

_Johnny passed through the door and turned to face him. The white of his bandage stood out brightly against the backdrop of black hair. "Yeah doc?"_

_"There's only one of you, and contrary to what you may think, you are not expendable." _

—

The ambulance backed into the bay, and Kelly Brackett—man of science, found himself reciting a prayer.

—

The ambulance backed into the bay and Roy consulted his wristwatch. Twelve minutes passed from the time his co-workers arrived on scene to arrival.

As soon as Ed had the ambulance doors open, Brackett helped with the stretcher. He gave Roy a solid glance then switched his attention to the man lying on the gurney, "Take him to exam room three, the other to exam five."

—

Johnny's environment moved, but he didn't open his eyes to investigate. He heard voices buzz around him but caught up in his painful world didn't try to make out what they were saying.

—

Max watched as Johnny disappeared into the exam room.

The paramedic who treated Max at the scene looked grim as he guided the stretcher further down the hall and into another room. Once on the exam table Max felt he needed to speak.

"I'm sorry about what happened to Johnny. I feel responsible; he was trying to help me."

Tom gave Max a long measured look. "The man to blame is the one who carried the gun."

"Go to your friend, I'll be alright here."

"You're my patient until the doctor releases me. There is nothing I can do but get in the way." A nurse entered the room, followed by Dr. Early.

"Tom," Dr. Early said. "Johnny's in excellent hands and he's a fighter."

Tom's answer was sober as he walked to the door, "This is one fight doc where winner may take all."

—

"One, two, three."

With Johnny transferred to the exam table, feeling depressed, Ed gathered up their equipment leaving the data scope and spine board. He felt a reassuring hand squeeze his shoulder. He looked into the face of his colleague. What he saw gave him hope. He nodded and quietly left.

The crowded room eased with Ed's departure only to congest seconds later with the arrival of an evening shift nurse he didn't recognize, and the radiology tech wielding the portable X-ray machine.

"Bob wait outside until were ready for you."

"Sure, Doc," the tech said.

An outside observer, Roy stood well out of the way ignored by the ensuing activity-taking place. Time a priority, everyone present in the room with the exception of the observer, had a job to do; they did it simultaneously and rapidly.

"John." Dr. Brackett hovered over the table beginning a primary trauma assessment. "Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital."

That's right John," Brackett assured his patient. "You're at Rampart. Mike," he said cutting through the gauze preventing Johnny's head from moving during transit. "Take vitals. Carol I want a type and cross-match, CBC, arterial blood gas, and clotting factor, stat. Also, run electrolytes and UA. Hang a bag of plasma and have O-negative blood on standby. Johnny do you remember what happened?"

"No." Pain gripped his chest and he moaned. "Chest. hurts. Why?" Kel noted the halting speech.

"Easy Johnny," Kel soothed. Running his fingertips lightly over the injured side, he felt the two broken ribs immediately. Johnny gasped and Kel instantly withdrew his hand. Leaning in, Kel placed the ends of his stethoscope in his ears and listened to Johnny's chest carefully. "Clear audible heart tones." Tapping the right side of his chest, then the left, Roy saw him frown. "partial breath sounds right-sided pneumothorax. Chest X-ray will confirm." He quickly finished his visual, his eyes skimming over the occlusive dressing and the bruising mottling his chest giving particular attention to the directional pattern. He glimpsed the bullet 'burn' that left a small ugly crease. He glanced at the arm. The bleeding was under control. He moved on, John's other injuries took precedence.

Morton called out the vitals, "BP 90/65 p120 r24. Holding steady."

At the same time as Doctor Bracket was working his primary survey, the nurse who just entered, sliced through Johnny's jeans and underclothes in preparation for a complete body search essential to ensure no wounds were hiding. Roy looked away. There was no privacy in a trauma workup. Little time in the ambulance left them unable to do a full body exam, only cursory one. Moaning continued from the bed.

"I know," The older nurse soothed. "I'm sorry I have to do this."

Johnny was log rolled and checked for injury. Roy closed his eyes at the sound of his partner's painful gasps.

"No spinal abnormalities felt, no obvious trauma, let's roll 'em back, easy, easy. It's over John," Brackett said checking his pupils. Roy watched the muscles working in Brackett's jaw.

When Roy looked at Johnny again, a blanket covered his shaking body; a Foley catheter monitored his urine output. The two large bore intravenous lines, infusing volume-increasing fluids were hanging on one side of a cross-crowned I.V. pole, and the newly placed bag of plasma on the other.

—

"Respiration is starting to increase Dr. Bracket, now 38"

Johnny tried loosely piecing thoughts together as people talked around him. It was getting harder to concentrate. Chest pain came and went in waves. He was cold and his arm throbbed. People were touching and poking at him and he didn't like it. No one answered his questions. Lisa and Ryan had been with him and he had an image of talking with someone but couldn't remember who it was, or why. Why was he here? He needed answers. His breathing increased. He licked his dry lips and pushed the mask away determined to get an answer.

". . . happene kids?"

"Easy." Brackett stepped into his hazy line of sight, replacing the mask. "John, the children are fine."

The heart monitor sounded loud and fast in Johnny's ears. He was tired. He wanted the pain to stop. He wanted to go home. He felt strange. His heart was racing. The room began to spin.

Brackett glanced at the heart monitor in alarm.

Carol called out, "Doctor his pressure is falling, 70 Systolic. Pulse is 150 . . ."

A deep inner burning, the sensation he wasn't getting enough air, followed by painful pinching pressure in his chest left Johnny gasping, which caused him to begin coughing the sound wet and gurgling. The pain turned his world white, then faded to black.

The energy in the room intensified going into overdrive. Roy couldn't move, the bright blood speckling Johnny's oxygen mask and the sound of his choking, kept him immobile.

"Suction," Brackett ordered. "Johnny can you hear me?" No return answer from his patient had him once again placing the stethoscope to Johnny's chest. "Start bagging Mike, unilateral absence of breath sounds, and dullness on percussion. Sounds like a right-sided hemopneumothorax. Lets get him intubated; thoracostomy tray nurse. Roy, step outside."

"60 systolic."

Roy's stomach dropped to his feet. He didn't want to leave but he backed out of the room to the sight of a thoracostomy tray pushed to Johnny's beside, and Brackett barking orders for blood and medications, a laryngoscope in his hand. A nurse was on the phone. Fear made Roy's mouth go as dry as a stone. Tom and Ed were loitering near the door and didn't speak. What was there to say? Roy waited with them, his back against the wall, hands cradling his neck staring at the floor. _If I hadn't taken my time getting to the arcade, If we didn't have to stop for gas, if we had been there maybe Clayton wouldn't have tried anything._ His mind continued to churn out random thoughts_. What did we miss? I need to call Cap. I have to contact Johnny's father. Lisa needs her—_

"_Squad 51, LA.__ What is your status?"__  
_

Tom held the HT. "LA, Squad 51 available from Rampart General."

"_Squad 51 respond for possible heart case at the Carson Metal Works, 353, Ocean Blvd. 3.5.3 Ocean Blvd. time out 18:11."_

"Squad 51 responding."

Tom raised his hands in the air. Roy watched them leave feeing suddenly alone.

A nurse rushed past and entered the room with two units of blood. Roy watched an orderly pushing an empty wheelchair toward the elevator, a male in his early 40's was leaning against the nurses desk holding a rag to his forehead.

_Respiratory therapy needed in exam room one. _

He nervously glanced at his watch, not really seeing the dial.

When the door finally opened, he looked up apprehensively. "Bob, bring these to OR two right away."

"You'll have 'em doc," The x-ray tech hurried away, the plates in his hand.

Bracket turned to Roy. "We managed to arrest his blood pressure drop." He observed Roy's shoulder's slump in relief. "John's respiratory effort improved within a few minutes of the thoracostomy Roy. The chest tube drained 1200cc's of blood, with continued drainage. I suspect an intercostal injury with ruptured blood vessels, or a lacerated lung. We're bringing him to surgical ICU, getting him prepped for surgery." Brackett watched Roy nod. The 'lost' stare he'd witnessed on plenty of victim's family members, but never on Roy, seemed wrong somehow. He hated to add any more pressure but said, "Roy I understand John's family is still in town. If you have a way to reach them, I suggest you contact them. Use the phone in my office."

Roy gave Brackett a searching gaze, trying to read his expression. The doctor's professional character never wavered. Roy felt disconnected as if it were happening to somebody else. _There are questions I should be asking. _His teeth raked his bottom lip, the palms of his hands sweaty.

Johnny's stretcher entered the hallway, the backboard and the c-collar gone. One of the nurses ventilated Johnny via BVM, and Carol manipulated his IV pole.

"OR patient, hold and clear the elevator," Brackett called ahead.

Brackett talked to Morton quickly as they walked, "Mike you'll manage the Base Station. Dixie should be here in another twenty minutes. Have Joe speak to her would you?"

Roy kept pace. His eyes lingered on his friend. What he was thinking and feeling must have showed because Brackett cautioned, "Don't go into that dark corner Roy, it doesn't help you—or him."

When the elevator door closed Roy rounded on Morton. "What are his chances exactly?"

"Come on Roy don't put me on the spot like this," Morton said in disapproval, heading back the way they came. "You know this is major surgery and there's an element of risk. Add to it the stress of the trauma . . ."

"I want to hear it straight, Dr. Morton."

Candidly, Mike said, "I can't give it to ya any straighter than this. In my book it boils down to time—the will of the patient—the careful hands of his surgeon, and a higher authority." Seeing the other's raised eyes made Mike uncomfortable.

The buzzer went off at the base station, the red light flashing.

"Excuse me," the doctor said.

"_Dr. Walters, you're wanted in pathology." _

"Unit calling in please identify." Roy heard.

"Rampart this is …"

Roy stepped back in the treatment room feeling the world pressing in on him.

The silence after the hustle and bustle of minutes before shouted in injustice. His eyes circled the room lingering on the clock. Johnny had been in this room less then fifteen minutes. He transferred his gaze to the blood stained bandages scattered about the exam table and floor. Lastly, they fixed on the remains of Johnny's clothing. Clothing his friend had worn but a short time ago now in a bag marked evidence. The sight of the clothes caused a physical reaction. A cold sweat broke out causing his shirt cling to his back, chilling him. Tingling began in his legs—his hands shook, and his breathing increased. He stood aimlessly by the door unable to think clearly enough to form a plan of action.

The door clanked open to admit a hospital attendant pushing a clean-up cart. Seeing Roy and walking around him, he began clearing away the medical trash littering the area. Roy stood still unaware of the other's side-glances.

The orderly gained his attention, "Hey man?"

Roy turned to him without speaking. He recalled seeing the fellow around the ER but his name escaped him. Jackson Jones was the name displayed on his hospital tag. He wouldn't forget it.

"You might want to lose those clothes." He held out a clean set of scrubs and a plastic hospital bag.

_Clothes? _Roy glanced down and sucked in his breath. Areas of his shirt and his knees stained with Johnny's blood made it appear as if he suffered an injury. Sweat popped out across his forehead and heaviness wrapped its arctic tentacles around his throat. He blindly accepted the offered hospital garb. Reining himself in took effort, but he managed. Roy thanked the man walking wearily toward the door.

One or two heads turned in his direction as he made his way to the restroom. He didn't notice—his mind was with the man upstairs in surgery.

Once in the bathroom as he stooped to splash cold water on his face the sharp coppery odor emanating off his clothing became the last straw. He stumbled into a bathroom stall where a series of forceful heaves emptied what little he had in his belly. He peeled off his bloodied shirt and pants. The cool temperature against his bare skin sent goosebumps rushing over arms and legs. Taking in a lungful of air he slowly released it. He couldn't recall the last time he lost his stomach. Feeling steadier, he went to the sink rinsing the tangy acid taste from his mouth, scooping up a quick drink to sooth his aching throat. Washing up, he redressed in the borrowed hospital scrubs. Forcing his emotions into a tight box and clamping a lid on it, he rolled up his bloodied clothes stuffing them into the plastic bag. He headed down the hall to Brackett's office. On the way, he discarded the ruined clothes into a red-labeled waste bin sparing Joanne the shock of seeing them. He passed by Dr. Morton still at the base station. Morton acknowledged him with a nod, and then continued to speak into the radio.

As he crossed the threshold into Brackett's office, a mood of calm descended, instantaneously accompanied by a feeling of familiarity.

A small library of medical books and journals stood to the right-hand side of the door. He recognized the names on some of the volumes because he witnessed Dr. Brackett consulting them a time or two. A large office lamp, a sculpture in bronze—Roy not quite certain what to make of it, and a few more medical books occupied space on a table to the left side of the room. Above the table on the wall, two separate frames displayed medical degrees. The majority highlighting Brackett's accomplishments hung on the wall behind the doctor's desk. A horizontal window, complete with window blinds, afforded the room with plenty of natural lighting. A few personal pictures would have rounded out the room; Roy found the absence of them to be a bit peculiar.

The knotted up tension in his shoulder muscles began to loosen. Being in this room gave him an opportunity to clear his head. Roy silently thanked his friend for his foresight. His eyes landed on the gray telephone sitting at the left corner of the desk.

He reached for the receiver and jumped to his feet cursing himself. _The children! _

Roy hurried to the receiving desk and the nurse informed him the children where released a short while ago. Roy silently berated his negligence adding more guilt to an already over-flowing cup; he had meant to check up on them before now. The sheriff's station was only a couple miles from the hospital and he knew they were probably there already.

Max would remain at Rampart for overnight observation.

He returned to Brackett's office.

He dialed his home and Joanne answered immediately. She absorbed the news like the fire fighter's wife she was, but he could hear her struggling for control, the huskiness of her voice betraying her. Joanne wouldn't break down in front of the children, she'd wait until she was alone.

"Roy, tell me we're not going to lose Johnny, even if it's a lie."

His wife needed assurances he couldn't give her. "I've never lied to you Jo, and I won't start today. I'm scared too." His non-answer was answer enough.

"Oh, Roy, w-what do I tell the kids?"

"Nothing for now, not until we hear the result of the surgery." Roy filled her in with what was happening with Lisa. "I told Lt. Decker we would keep Lisa with us until her parents are notified. Expect a phone call from the Sheriff Department. When you pick her up Jo, go alone; see if one of the neighbors can keep the kids."

They talked for a few more minutes each giving the other needed support.

"Honey, before you hang up, Jen wants to talk to you."

"Daddy?"

Roy soaked up the young voice as a flower soaks up the sun. "What is it piglet?"

"Is Uncle Johnny with you? I didn't get a chance to give him his present."

"No honey he isn't. What present Jen?"

Disappointment laced her voice, "I put a whole handful full of kisses in your shirt pocket for Uncle Johnny in case he was feelin' sad 'bout Lisa leaving tomorrow. My dress didn't have pockets daddy, so I borrowed your pocket. Mommy said we wouldn't be going to the arcade today cuz of the police bein' there. You can give 'em to Uncle Johnny for me 'kay?"

Roy cleared his throat before answering, "I can do that Jen."

"When are you comin' home?"

"I'll be home later, sweetheart."

"Daddy you sound funny, if you need a kiss, Uncle Johnny won't mind if you take one of his. He's good 'bout sharing."

He had to swallow multiple times.

"Okay Jen," Roy heard, "Let me have the phone."

"Bye Daddy, love you to the moon and back"

"Love you too piglet"

"As soon as you know anything . . ." Joanne said.

"I'll call." He said huskily.

When he hung up, he gave himself a few minutes before dialing again.

—

The second time he dialed it reached the Stanley home.

"Emily, is Hank around?"

"Sure Roy. Is everything all right? Joanne and the kids okay?"

"They're fine Emily; I need to discuss a personal matter with Hank."

"I'll get him."

The mental picture of Johnny lying on the floor assaulted him and he rubbed his eyes trying to block it out. He didn't lose the image until he heard his friend's voice. "Roy? Is there a problem?

"Ah," he began, "I'm here at Rampart. Johnny's been—Johnny's been shot Cap he's—"

"What?" Hank's voice one of disbelief cut Roy off effectively. "Shot? Is he going to be all right? Was anyone else hurt?"

"He's in surgery with a chest wound. Ryan and Lisa were with Johnny, but didn't witness the actual shooting."

Plainly stunned but taking charge Hank's command style filtered through. "Listen pal, so you'll only have to explain this once, I'll notify the others. We'll be at the hospital as soon as we can. Is there anything you need me to do before I arrive?"

"Yeah, cap there is. Would you have Emily swing by the house in about an hour and check up on Joanne?"

—

Roy pushed a sequence of numbers on the phone pad for the third time—reaching the Sheriff's Station. He asked for Officer Fitzgerald.

"I'm glad you called," the officer said and explained that the children arrived and the Browns were at the station. They were waiting with Lisa until Joanne and Ryan's mother arrived.

"Has Lisa Gage talked with her family yet?" Roy asked.

"No, the little girl refuses to speak with anyone."

Roy frowned. "I saw her talking to you at the scene."

"She was, but as we were leaving the hospital she overheard one of the nurses discussing her brother's injury and she became very upset and hasn't spoken to anyone."

Roy's eyes narrowed in concern. "What she needs is her family."

"I'm aware of that," Fitzgerald said sounding irritated. "Would you happen to know how we can get in touch with 'em?"

"Yeah, and I'd like to be the one to tell the family Sergeant."

"If you're sure this is how you'd like to handle it."

"It is. How's the boy doing?"

"Angry and upset as you can imagine."

Roy knew it was an understatement. Ryan idolized Johnny. His lips drew inward and a fierce hot anger suddenly filled him. He wrestled it down. He didn't have the time to be self-indulgent. If Lisa knew about Johnny then it wouldn't be long before his kids found out. He left a message with Fitzgerald for his wife to call the surgical ward at Rampart and rang off.

—

Roy sat with the telephone receiver in his hands, unsure of what to do next. It was just past seven o'clock. He decided to call the hotel on the off chance Liz and John returned from shopping. He got up and went to the bookcase retrieving the phone directory stored there. Carrying it back to the desk, he flipped pages until he came to what he was looking for. He punched in the number to the hotel and the desk clerk put him directly through to the Gage room. It rang a few times and Roy was about to hang up when the line clicked open.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Gage?

"Speaking."

"Mr. Gage, its Roy DeSoto."

"Mr. DeSoto?" Roy could hear puzzlement. "What can I do for you?"

As a paramedic, he conversed with victims and their families on a regular basis. Being forthright without prolonging the explanation was the method he usually employed, but there were times when special handling was called for. From what Johnny had shared with him about his father, he knew the man suffered from angina. This news, or more plainly the stress of it, could trigger an attack. "Is your wife with you?"

"Yes she is. What is this about?"

Choosing his words carefully he began, "Mr. Gage, let me begin by saying your daughter Lisa is well, and is being looked after by my family. Johnny is at Rampart General Hospital currently undergoing surgery the victim of a shooting earlier this evening."

Roy heard an audible gasp. "My God!"

He heard Johnny's stepmother demanding to know what was happening. "What is it John? Are you all right? What's happened? Has there been an accident? Is it Lisa?"

The man spoke hurriedly, "Hang on," and Roy wasn't sure to which of them his words were aimed for. A hand placed against the mouthpiece muffled his response but Roy heard it nonetheless. "Calm yourself Liz. I'm fine and Lisa is fine, it's about John." Once again, John spoke directly to Roy, "I don't understand. Shot! How did it happen, and how bad is he?" Unquestionable anxiety filled John's voice.

Roy explained what he knew.

"I'll be at the hospital as soon as possible, though, I can't imagine John being receptive to my being there. Liz will pick up Lisa at your home."

Roy wasn't sure what he meant by his comment but didn't spend time analyzing it. "Joanne probably hasn't arrived at the house yet. Give 'em another half-hour before you try calling her." His hand pushed a paperweight back and forth in front of him. "If you have a pen and paper handy, this is the number to Rampart General Hospital along with the driving directions." After he finished he asked, "Will Liz be all right?"

"I'm sure she will. Thank you for looking after our daughter."

"Sir, I'm sorry for bringing you such news."

"I appreciate you taking the time to call; there is no easy way to receive such information."

Roy slowly hung up. There was nothing left to do but wait.

And hope.

—


	15. Chapter 15

_I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with 'em._

Forgiveness Factor

Written by: Kianda

Chapter Fifteen

* * *

"Chris?"

He didn't look up from his book.

"Chris?"

"Jen, stop bugging me and go away," he grumbled.

When she didn't move, he glanced over at her. "I'm gonna tell mom if you—"

His words immediacy died. His sister stood in the doorway. In her hands, she clutched _Mr. Wrinkle _her stuffed bulldog. He sat up quickly. A gift from Uncle Johnny, the grungy old thing became her constant companion when something upset her. Unnoticed, the book slid from his hand. Scooting to the edge of the bed, he patted a spot next to him. "Jen, what's wrong?"

His sister ignored his invitation. "Chris, feel tingly."

Chris frowned and he chewed his fingers. His sister sometimes told him she felt "tingly" He didn't understand it. He figured it was her way of explaining she was nervous.

"Why, what happened?"

"Daddy called Mommy a little while ago. Mommy doesn't look right."

Doubt began to nibble at him. Chris heard the phone ring earlier but didn't think anything about it. "Whaddya mean?

Hugging Mr. Wrinkle she said, "Mommy got all quiet after Daddy talke an like you kno she looks like she's gonna be sick."

Chris' eyes grew large.

"I got to talk with Daddy. He sounde not like Daddy."

Chris looked confused. "Did he say anything you remember?"

"U yep." Her head bounced up and down.

"Well?" he coaxed.

"I asked when he was comin' home."

"C'mon Jen, what did he tell you?"

"He said not 'till latter."

"Did he say if Uncle Johnny was with him?"

"Nope."

Chris' mind worked quickly. Leaving the arcade his mother told them not to worry. If anything happened, she would have told them, right. Mom always told them the truth. He couldn't keep the worm of doubt from burrowing deeper.

"I'll go find out when Daddy's coming home, okay?"

She nodded. "Chris, I'm scared."

— — —

"Mom, why isn't Dad home yet? We left the arcade a while ago . . ." He found his mother sitting on the living room couch with the_ look_ Jennifer described. His belly did something strange. "Mom what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

Chris repeated his question. Troubled Hazel eyes stared at her. When worried, Chris' eyes went from blue to hazel green just as Roy's did. Joanne debated on how much should she tell him? "Chris your father—"

The telephone's shrill ring stopped her cold. Color left her face in a rush. _Johnny?_

He reached for it.

"No! I'll get it!"

He snatched his hand back, startled.

She picked up the phone. Her effort to school her features failed miserably.

"Hello?" Her eyes slowly closed. Her fingers absently tugged at the telephone cord. "Yes, speaking . . ." Her eyes darted to Chris as she listened. "I can be there in ten minutes. . . ." She hung up and a shaky sigh escaped her.

"Mom?"

"Chris? I have to go out for a while."

"Mom what's ha—?"

She shook her head. "When I return. Lisa will be with me. I will explain what is happening then."

"But, Mom is Ryan—"

"Not now, Chris."

Frustrated, Chris left the room. He chomped his lower lip. What could have happened? Taking the stairs two at a time and nearing the top, he could see Jennifer was still in the same spot he left her in.

"Chris, is Daddy coming home soon?"

"No, and Mom is going out," he told his sister.

"Mr. Wrinkle," Jennifer whispered. "My tummy doesn't feel good."

— — —

Roy stepped from the elevator and went in the direction of the surgical waiting area. The comfort of the doctor's lounge, available to him, wasn't what he desired. Before going directly to the waiting room, he stopped by the surgical desk to let the nurses know of his expected phone call. He knew two of the nurses working tonight.

"Roy, we're so sorry to hear about Johnny!"

"We're here for you if you need anything okay?"

Word traveled fast within hospital circles.

He entered the waiting room. A middle-aged woman sat alone staring off into space. Her face showed recent signs of crying. She looked his way, but remained quiet.

He completely understood her mood.

— — —

After asking Bridgett, the children's babysitter, to sit with the kids, Joanne drove the nine miles to the sheriff's station. Open two years, the modern style building with it's three large archways, terracotta shingled roof, and pretty landscaping, took one by surprise, though pleasantly.

Walking to the front of the building—visitors used this entrance—she passed through a set of double doors and entered the spacious lobby. A large front desk centered in the room drew her eye. As she approached, two-uniformed officers seated at the workstation looked her way.

One of them inquired politely. "Ma'am, how may I help you."

Joanne signed in, and explained the purpose for her visit.

The officer immediately dialed the phone in front of him.

"Frank, Mrs. DeSoto is here."

"Ma'am," he said hanging up and handing her a visitor's tag, "come with me, please."

He led her to a medium sized office room and met with Deputy Frank Fitzgerald. After his preliminary greeting, he said, "Ma'am, the children are waiting in the community room. I'll take you there now. Do you ha—"

"Frank?" A deputy interrupted stepping out from an adjoining room, "Captain's ready to see you."

"Okay, Saunders, thanks." He turned to her. "Please excuse the interruption ma'am." He picked up a file lying on the desk. "Have a seat. I shouldn't be long."

As she sank into the chair, she heard the steady ring of a phone, and someone talking close by. Her head turned to her right. . . .

A deputy one desk over jotted information into a notebook, as he conversed with someone over the phone. "Yeah, Hector, I know he's only been out a few weeks. Anything else come to mind?"

"Uh huh, is that right?" The officer gave her a half-nod when he noticed her. He turned slightly in his chair. It creaked.

Joanne looked away. She tried not to listen. _Someone should answer that phone._

"You're saying he kept his appointment Oh, which one did he miss?"

_By now, Roy has called Hank, and the rest of the guys should have the news. I hope they look after Roy. _

"A job interview, but you say he's scheduled to start working?"

_He sounded tired. . . ._

"When you met with him, did he voice displeasure, make any threat anything strike you as odd?"

_Depressed. . . ._

"The custody ruling? What about it Uh, yea the written affidavit."

The sound of scribbling had her glancing over. He was heavily underscoring something he had written.

". . . July fourth?"

_I'm going to answer that phone myself, in a minute!_

"He was in MC not bad thinking for a parole officer. We'll have someone check into i say again?"

"No, it's an angle we didn't work. We tried to find the juvenile's responsible, no witness came—"

_C'mon, answer the phone. Thank God! It stopped ringing._

"What's that?"

He chuckled. "We do miss things occasionally. . . ."

_Johnny had firecrackers thrown at him on the fourth. _Joanne turned to listen, her eyes discreetly watching.

"No, this case goes to Stiles tomorrow morning. I'm doing a favor for Decker who is following up at Rampart."

_Roy__ told her a Lt. Decker handled field operations at the arcade. Where they discussing Johnny's case?"_

He smirked playing with his pencil, "Some of us have to do the legwork."

"Excuses. I tried over an hour ago when I called. A certain P.O didn't pick up his phone."

_July? Did they think it more than just prank?_

"Holiday slow down. Not for me though, I'm back on patrol tomorrow Talk to Stiles. Appreciate the information "He hung up.

With notebook in hand, the officer glanced her way before joining his colleagues in the other room.

Joanne took a good look around.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._ Bent over a Selectric typewriter, a deputy used a two-fingered approach to typing. With the amount of paperwork scattered across his badly cluttered desk, she felt sorry for him.

An empty desk, tucked away in a corner of the room would make 'Felix Unger' proud. The items precisely placed, neatly stacked, and dust free, had her imagining they dealt with a _Craig Brice-type_ personality here too. Squinting she leaned forward trying to read the nameplate on the desk._ Detective Nathanial Stiles. _Stiles, the name she just heard mentioned. The detective in charge of Johnny's case, as of tomorrow.

She sat back in her chair glancing at the closed door willing it to open. The air felt weighted in the over-warm room. Still wearing her jacket moisture began to gather under her arms. She shed her coat placing it on the back of her chair. The aroma of day-old coffee, and the smell of cigarette and cigar smoke, contributed to the air's heaviness. The spicy scent of men's aftershave, lingered too. She used her hands to fan her face suddenly feeling flushed. The subtle pull of a headache hovered over her eyes.

The office door opened and Fitzgerald rejoined her.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, Mrs. DeSoto," he apologized. "Would you like something to drink? A glass of water? A cup of coffee?"

She shook her head. "How are the children?"

He fished a small set of keys from his uniform pants pocket, sat down, and unlocked the top drawer of his desk. She noted he held the file he originally left with.

"The Clayton boy isn't fully aware of the circumstances surrounding his father's arrest, nor of his injuries," he said. "The aunt and uncle requested his mother tell him. She is due to arrive at anytime."

Joanne nodded.

"It's unfortunate," he continued, opening the unlocked drawer and placing the file inside, "Miss Gage found out about her brother's injuries the way she did." He shut the drawer harder than was necessary.

_He blames himself for what happened at the hospital. _A gold band encircled his left-hand ring finger, and she wondered if he had children. She looked around his desk. There weren't any pictures.

"The young lady wanted to remain at the hospital," he said. "I told her, her folks had to be with her ." Coming around the side of the desk, he half-sat against it. "Your husband is notifying her family. He wants you to contact the surgical desk at Rampart before you leave." Seeing her eyes dilate at the mention of the surgical desk he said, "I understand the victim is a close personal friend. I'm sorry things couldn't be easier on any of you."

The temperature of the room suddenly turned warmer. Tears flooded her eyes, and everything around her blurred. No! She wouldn't do this here! Closing her eyes, she held her breath for number of seconds before releasing it. The tearful tension eased. When she reopened her watery eyes, Fitzgerald had placed a box of tissues in front of her. She mumbled a thank you while yanking a tissue from the box. She pressed it gently against her eyes.

_Helluva way for their holiday season to end_. He thought, wisely saying nothing.

"Did Lisa or Ryan give you a reason why Mr. Clayton would want to hurt Johnny?" She asked.

"I'm sorry ma'am. I'm not at liberty to share this information." Fitzgerald softened his next words realizing how stringent the former sounded. "Mrs. DeSoto, due to Lisa's emotional state, and her parent's absence, we chose not to question her at this time." He stood. "If you're ready?"

Jo followed him down a long corridor, which led to a community room. The Browns and Ryan sat together at a small table; a couple of soda cans in front of them. Lisa sat at another table with her head resting on top of her arms. With her face turned away, Joanne couldn't tell if she was asleep. A woman of around Joanne's age sat beside her.

The woman said something to Lisa, and she looked up.

_She looks exhausted._ Joanne thought.

"This is Officer Nellie Martin," Fitzgerald introduced."

Joanne acknowledged her with a nod.

Lisa walked over to where Joanne stood, her eyes never reaching higher than the floor. This action made her think instantly of Johnny. Jo ached to offer comfort but held off. Lisa stood silently at her side not encouraging any such display. Instead, Jo gently took her hand and squeezed.

Kevin and Linda Brown were watching the exchange. "I don't understand why my brother did this!" Deep worry lines and a pinched drawn face confirmed Linda struggled to make sense of her sibling's actions.

Joanne remained silent. She knelt next to Ryan to be eye level with him. He kept his eyes downcast, an air of melancholy surrounding him. It didn't stop her. She let him know how grateful and relieved she felt that both of them were safe.

"My Dad wanted to take me away but Uncle Max, and Johnny, wouldn't let him," he said. "They got hurt because of me. It's my fault."

She frowned. There was no emotion coming from him.

"Ryan." She made him look at her. Her chest tightened. She saw it all. The shame. The broken trust. The bitter acceptance of what happened. The heartbreakingly real return of what Johnny and so many others were hoping to banish; the return of hopelessness.

Impotent in the face of such misery, she lowered her eyes, unable to speak for countless moments. No child should suffer like this!

Blinking rapidly, she croaked, "You did all the right things. What happened isn't your fault."

"Is too," he said. "I ran inside. It is my fault."

"Ryan, this was your father's doing!" Linda cried.

"Listen to me son, "Fitzgerald said. "Nothing you did caused this; you could not have prevented it."

Ryan nodded, but Joanne could see he didn't believe it. In his unsettling flat monotone he said, "Mrs. DeSoto, my uncle is gonna be okay, but they say Johnny got shot. He could die—"

"No! Don't say that!" Lisa shouted, bursting into tears.

— — —

Anticipating the arrival of his friends, Johnny's father, and a phone call from his wife, Roy felt like crawling out of his skin. He forced himself to stay seated. Spying a magazine that lay open on the seat next to him, he picked it up flipping through pages aimlessly.

Placing the publication back on the magazine rack, he grabbed another. He repeated this process a few times before finally rising to his feet. Walking about, he concentrated on John Gage senior, an enigma. Not knowing what to expect, but leaning toward a more hardened response from him, Roy wasn't prepared to hear such an earnest reaction. The man who Roy just finished speaking with and opened his home to differed from Johnny's version. They were poles apart. Roy didn't know what to think, or what to do. He felt a sense of responsibility toward Johnny's family. How this turn of events changed their travel plans, he wouldn't hazard a guess. He sighed and returned to his seat.

Once his friends arrived, it became easier for Roy to keep from pacing the room. His friends where shocked, outraged, and full of questions. After fielding their questions, his mind and body demanded down time. He closed his eyes. His friends understood and left him alone.

Roy shifted in his seat trying to get comfortable. He opened one eye lifting his wrist to within eyesight. His wristwatch told him only five minutes passed since last he checked. He resettled himself. During times of heightened stress, he would try calming himself by running through a series of mathematical challenges. The outcome of these mental challenges wasn't important. In doing them, he could relax enough to tame the stress. This enabled him to think clearly again. He ignored the hushed conversations taking place around him, and concentrated. Nothing came to him but a one-sided scornful reproach. _Face it DeSoto, you blew it. You should have gotten your butt out of bed, but you wanted to stay in bed and well look where it got you. If you were on time, Johnny would not be in surgery. You failed your friend today. _Suddenly Johnny's face hovered, and Roy's eyes popped open to banish the mocking grin.

Hank observed Roy's movements. He wondered how long it would take before the calm shell around him cracked. Roy internalized his feelings when they overwhelmed him; he retreated, which cut him off from the rest of his friends. He needed control. This situation stripped it away. Today's experience of being on-scene and hearing the gunshot, witnessing John's state afterward, and having to initiate immediate medical care would leave emotional scarring; how deep the scars went would depend on the outcome of John's surgery.

His thoughts switched to Johnny. His gut burned. John had a keen dislike of firearms. To suffer grievously at its hand was one of life's ironic twists. He shook his head at the senselessness of it all.

— — —

Stillness settled over the room.

Joe gave Dixie time to process what he just told her. "Are you going to be all right?" he asked.

"Let me tell you how I'm feeling instead."

The hard expression—the ramrod straight body—and her hands pressed flat against the desk informed him.

"I'm _mad_ as hell; and I want to hit something."

"Get in line, but you'll find it's long." He examined his hands. "Dixie, you know as well as I do these kinds of—"

She held up a hand to silence him. "Don't say it, Joe. I know it as well as anyone. Excuse me." Rising smoothly from the cushioned chair, she left his office.

The physician thoughtfully watched her go. Exposed to stressful situation's daily, one became emotionally resilient in this profession. Medicine meant people, and Dixie understood that. She wholehearted gave to each patient her time and compassion. However, at the end of the day, Dixie learned how to _switch off_ everything connected with her job. Friends fell into a different category. When friends turned into patients, her personal involvement remained in the _on _position. This exposed her to the emotional pitfalls of the job.

Her fondness for Johnny made this very personal indeed.

— — —

_"Nurse McCall, you're wanted in treatment room four."_

Dixie wiped her eyes and squared her shoulders. It wasn't the first time she received shocking news while on the job, and about this very patient, so she did what she always did. She went back to work and tried not to worry. The first chance she had she would find out how Roy was coping.

— — —

"Mr. Gage. Nurse McCall," Hank greeted.

Stealing himself, Roy stood.

Dixie fixed her sight on Roy. His washed-out appearance, and his change of clothes sent a strong message.

Roy greeted Johnny's father.

A nurse entered the room. "Excuse me. Mr. DeSoto. You have a phone call at the surgical desk."

Cap, can you?" Roy inclined his head toward the man in the wheelchair.

He nodded. "Mr. Gage," Hank said, "let me tell you what I know."

Roy moved in the direction of the nurse's station. Dixie right behind.

An awkward silence kept company between the two friends as they walked. In unfamiliar territory Dixie hesitated before asking, "H-how are you? I understand you were with—"

"We were late."

For a moment, his words caused confusion then understanding dawned. "Wait a minute Roy, you can't—"

"If we had just been . . ." I can't talk to you about this." His voice held a note of finality.

His rejection hurt and she couldn't hide it. "I'm sorry," she bristled, "any one of us privileged to call Johnny a friend will be willing to listen when you're up to it."

He reached for the phone and checked himself. _What are you doing DeSoto—this is your friend. This is Dixie. You shut her out. She's hurting too, and you didn't even care to ask how she is dealing with this. _He turned only to find her walking way.

"Dixie," he called his tone one of apology. " I didn't mean to. . ."

She stopped and slowly looked back over her shoulder, one eyebrow arched. "Apology accepted, Roy."

— — —

Joanne's head pounded. It added to the uncomfortable drive home. The ride _to_ the police station seemed shorter than the _return_ trip. Joanne let her eyes stray to the rearview mirror. Darkness cloaked the huddled figure in the backseat. Lights from an oncoming vehicle swept their car as it passed, and her passenger became visible for just an instant. Lisa's head rested against the window with her arms wrapped firmly around her legs. Every so often, multiple indrawn breaths racked her little body, a physical reminder of her earlier breakdown. Joanne's wanted to ease her hurt, bring back the smiling girl of yesterday. Sadly, something for Lisa was lost, something valuable.

Yesterday, Lisa believed monsters didn't exist.

Today, she discovered they did.

— — —

_"Uncle Johnny is late._

_"Jennifer, he'll be here."_

_"Uncle Johnny's never late for visits, not like us Daddy."_

_A knock sounded at the door._

_His daughter ran to the door, flung it open, and moped in disappointment._

_It wasn't Johnny standing on the front stoop, but Captain Stanley. At his stricken expression, Roy leaned heavily against the door frame. Hank didn't speak._

_"Who, Cap?"_

_A consoling hand found its way to his shoulder. "Johnny."_

_— — —_

Feeling a hand touch his shoulder, Roy jerked awake his pulse racing, the fog of sleep lifting.

"You okay, Roy?" Hank asked standing over him.

He nodded, palming the back of his neck. Looking around he noticed the absence of his friends. Hank supplied an answer before he asked the question.

"The guys went for coffee, figured I'd ask if you wanted some."

Roy accepted gratefully. Hank left.

Roy's wristwatch told him thirty minutes passed. He stood and stretched. His galloping pulse started to settle. Tonight, Rampart's operating rooms were busy as multiple people sat awaiting news. Strangers, he thought, each affected by a quirk of fate. A couple sitting closely together occupied their time by reading; the man held a magazine—the woman a bible. Snoring lightly, a twenty-something male had one leg curled over the top of the chair he lounged in. The middle-aged woman, the original occupant of the room had moved to the end of his row.

Johnny's father remained alone—in self-imposed isolation.

Roy strode to the window not keen on intruding into the other's space. _Coward, you just don't know what to say to him._ The window overlooked the doctor's parking area. Day-shift over; the lot was half-empty. A smattering of wet patches glowed darkly in the thin light, deep wells of blackness from which nothing could escape. Earth's celestial night-lights flickered, and disappeared behind remnants of storm clouds drifting passed. Each time the moon's light faded, it plunged the parking lot deeper into shadow. The cheerless sight matched his mood. Sighing he returned to his seat.

"The waiting is the hardest."

Roy looked at the middle-aged women down his row. His blue eyes held an expression of inquiry. "Excuse me ma'am?"

"The waiting. The ones who are in surgery have no idea how slowly time passes for those of us expecting news."

Roy acknowledged her with a nod, and a question. You have someone . . .?"

"My teenage daughter. Her car ran down a steep embankment, trapping her."

"I'm sorry ma'am." Both Roy's tone and eyes exhibited compassion. "Is your daughter badly injured?"

The woman fought back tears. "They say she has multiple injuries."

There was no need for an explanation and she didn't give one.

"I hope everything turns out well for her."

"It's crazy how life works," she said. "A few days ago, Charlotte, that's my daughter, excitedly came to speak to me about something important in her life and," her voice broke, "I-I didn't have time for her. I shooed her away. I keep seeing her look of disappointment." She pressed a hand against her mouth. She turned away from him.

"Don't give up hope ma'am," Roy encouraged her. "The doctors here are very good at what they do."

"I'm sorry for your companion." She turned teary eyes on him. "I couldn't help overhear the conversation you had with your friends. How awful. I hope he is going to be all right." She leaned over and patted his hand. "Thank you for listening to a stranger."

Roy nodded. "You're welcome ma'am."

A nurse walked into the room. "Mrs. Harris?"

"Yes?"

"Charlotte is in recovery and the doctor will speak with you now."

The woman slumped in relief before rising to her feet. As both women left the room, the guys returned with Lieutenant Decker trailing behind them.

Hank handed Roy his coffee. Johnny's father joined them. He introduced himself to Lt. Decker.

"The detectives will want a detailed statement from you," he said to Roy. "Are you holding up okay?"

"I'm not the one in surgery," he said sourly.

Decker gave Roy a hard look. God, but he understood DeSoto's pain. . . .

"Lt. what can you tell us?" John asked.

Caught up in his own memories, Ron nearly missed the question. He pulled himself back.

"Physically the children are fine," he said. "They didn't witness the actual shooting. I'm sorry to say they did see him pistol whip the uncle." Decker paused as a nurse and doctor, in surgical scrubs, walked into the room. They zeroed in on the couple seated at the far end. All eyes in the room focused on the pair. As the woman became aware of the doctor striding toward her, she slowly put down her bible and grabbed hold of her companion's arm.

"I'm sorry; we did everything possible for your father."

The woman gave a strangled cry and burst into tears. The male sitting beside her woodenly embraced her. Both rose slowly to their feet and followed the two medical staff from the room. The woman had the dazed look of someone whose world had just come crashing in. Roy dropped his eyes unable to witness their grief.

The room's atmosphere changed to one of sadness.

Decker waited until a subtle signal from the group encouraged him to continue. "The boy's version of events and that of the uncle's match. Barrett went for the gun allowing needed time for the children to escape. According to Clayton, he didn't shoot your friend." He saw uneasiness stir the group. "It appears Barrett lost consciousness during the attempted grab. Gage then went for it. The two grappled. Gage managed to knock it from Clayton's hand. It struck a solid object, and discharged."

For a few electrified seconds nobody moved.

"That's Jive!" Chet blurted.

Marco mumbled something angrily in Spanish. Mike immediately placed a supportive hand to his shoulder.

Decker observed the victim's father. _One cool customer._ His face never changed expression.

Roy glared at Decker. "You believe that?"

DeSoto's body language and severe expression warned the long-standing cop he needed to be careful with his next words.

"Our people will go over the ballistics and other evidence. We still have interviews to conduct, and we're hoping once your son is up for questions, Mr. Gage, he'll be able to tell us what happened."

"You didn't answer the question, Lt," Roy remarked coldly.

"I'm not discounting it," he said. It's my job to get to the truth."

John watched Roy. He didn't know him, but John could see he was nearing the end of his emotional rope. "Why did he go after my son?"

"He wasn't after your son, sir, he was trying to kidnap his son. Clayton convinced himself he would loose custody permanently if divorced. His wife recently filed the paperwork," he clarified. "His intention to kidnap his son went south after your son attempted to reason with him. The uncle showed up, and the kids' ran inside the arcade. You have the rest of the story."

Suddenly, Mike's entire body stiffened. He took a menacing step toward Decker. Roy eyes shot up, and he quickly stepped in-between them.

Mike's piercing response shocked everyone. "You think this is a story Sheriff? Johnny is fighting for his life!"

"Easy, Michael," Hank warned, "we're all tired here."

"No, he's right," said Decker his fingers rubbing his chin. "Poor choice of words. I apologize. I came across as insensitive."

Chet said heatedly, "Johnny is helping Clayton's kid; and this is his thanks." Chet's hand waved in the general direction of the surgical suite. "It's simple. Clayton had a gun. The gun went off, shooting Johnny. Lock him up and throw away the damn key."

"Not my call. Neither is it yours. He will do time, just how much well, that's up to the court to decide."

Chet grumbled an incoherent reply and moved off.

"I'm heading back to the sheriff's station," he said. "Mr. DeSoto, a Detective Stiles will want to get in touch with you sometime tomorrow. Captain Stanley, may I speak with you a moment?"

Hank watched Johnny's father wheel himself toward the window. He didn't know what to say to him.

Decker spoke with Captain Stanley out of earshot of the men. When Hank returned, he asked Roy to take a walk with him. Whatever their conversation, the others could tell Roy hadn't been happy about it. He came back tight-lipped. This confused his three co-workers. They were not used to seeing this side of Roy.

A silent and uncomfortable five minutes passed. The silence fled when their Irish counterpart laughed aloud.

"Hey, what gives?" Marco asked.

"I haven't gone off my rocker, Marco so ya can quit lookin' at me like that," Chet said impatiently. "I'm thinking of something Gage did not too long ago." He gave a knowing smile.

"Share it with the rest of us. We could use a diversion," Hank said. If Chet and John were involved it would make for an interesting tale.

"It may get lost in translation Cap, but I'll give it try." Chet combed his mustache out using his fingers. "Remember a couple months back? You kept assigning me latrine duty?"

This earned a chuckle from Hank, and smiles from all, but Roy. "I remember."

"I know I deserve latrine duty-when I take the fall for the Phantom's pranks-but every shift? Frustrated I complained to Gage about it. The next shift he shows up to help me clean the latrine. I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth so I let him help. It isn't long before curiosity has me asking why he is helping, he says, 'JPS.' I say what's that. He drills me with that creepy look—you know the one I'm talkin' about—the one where his eyes look through ya? He says, 'What you did.' He then wants to know if I'm up for a story. I'm trying to keep up. Is this is some wild Gage prank, or is he on the level."

"Listen Chet, I got news for you," Marco teased, "you can be as thick as a brick."

"He has ya there;" Mike poked Chet in the head. "It's thick."

"Oh that's a nice," he scolded pushing Mikes hand away. "Can I finish?"

Both men settled and Chet picked up where he left off.

"Now mind, while Gage is talking we continue to clean up. Together were making quick work of it. The stress of wondering whether I'm about to be major-leagued duped is too much for me. I tell Gage, he can stop helping whenever he wants. He stops, shrugs, and says, 'fine if ya don't want my help. I'm gone.' He looks offended like I don't trust him or something. I feel badly about it. I tell him to spin his yarn."

Chet stopped for a moment and looked around. He had everyone's attention. "So this is what he told me. A sales rep, an administration clerk, and their manager are walking to lunch when they find an antique oil lamp. They rub it and a Genie pops out.

The Genie says, "I'll give each of you just one wish"

"Me first! Me first!" Says the administrative clerk. "I want to be in the Bahamas, driving a speedboat without a care in the world."

Poof! She's gone.

"Me next! Me next!" Says the sales rep. "I want to be in Hawaii, relaxing on the beach with my personal masseuse, an endless supply of Pina Coladas and the love of my life."

Poof! He's gone.

"OK, you're up, the Genie says to the manager."

The manager thinks a moment and says, "I want those two bozos back after lunch."

Smiles broke out, but Chet didn't slow.

"Johnny asks me, if I understand the point of the story?" I think for a moment and tell him always let the boss speak first. . . ." He nods, and just like that," Chet snapped his fingers, "I understood why you were so upset, Cap."

Hank secretly saluted his junior paramedic.

"John tells me it's not cool to always be first in line, and when I'm tempted to be 'just remember, 'JPS'".

"Gage, I say, what in the hell does that mean? He looks at me as straight-faced as you can get and says, 'What I told you when you first asked me why I was helping you clean the latrine, JPS, . . . Just plain stupid.'"

The story lightened the moment.

Suddenly Chet sobered. "John made me realize something, something I didn't fully appreciate until that moment."

Roy's eyes rose in question.

"No matter the situation, John has my back."

Heads nodded in unison.

No one noticed the man in the wheelchair bring a hand to his face to feel wetness there.

* * *

_Author note: The joke/story I heard before. I found it wandering the halls of cyberspace without an author. I have tried locating a name of him/her for inclusion here. No luck._

_Review __:-)_


	16. Chapter 16

_I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with 'em._

Forgiveness Factor

Written by: Kianda

Chapter Sixteen

* * *

_Hop the wellspring of all things._

* * *

— — —

Lisa broke her silence as they pulled into the driveway. "Mrs. DeSoto, the nurses said that Johnny was lucky to be alive."

Lisa may spoken quietly, but the impact surely wasn't. Sick at heart, Joanne shied away from the reality it brought. She let the car engine idle and faced Lisa. The ambient light given off from the dashboard showed the young girl waited anxiously for the answer.

Joanne sighed. At times—their presence overlooked by adults—children wound up hearing things best kept for grown-up ears.

_"_Johnny's injuries are serious, but we need to believe deep in our hearts he'll be brought through this."

Joanne could see the seeds of doubt in her eyes. Lisa looked down, fussing with her necklace. As light touched the smooth surface, the fireflies glowed.

Chills tingled their way up and down Joanne's spine.

— — —

Three identically gowned, masked, and gloved figures hovered around the patient lying on the operating table. Only one held a scalpel.

The patient lay on his left side, fully draped in sterile sheets, except for one sectioned window laid bare for the scalpel. This section gleamed pale against the sea of green.

A bandaged right limb cradled in a soft arm stabilizer, rested on an elevated arm board. Behind a large sheeted screen, protected from the surgical environment and hidden from view, an anesthesiologist sat on a stool close to the patient's head monitoring his vital signs.

A surgical tray concealed under hygienic towels, held sanitized medical instruments, lined up in precise order. On a surgical cart, close to the bed within easy reach of the scrub nurse, sat stainless steal bowls varying in size and shape. Each vessel held sponges, gauze pads, and other disposable items.

Dr. Benjamin Halifax listened to the sighing strains of violin music as it flowed into the brightly lit operating suite. As the slender bow caressed the strings, the pure tone searched for, and found, the path to his soul. There were benefits from listening to music, he discovered. It energized him from within, and kept him focused. At the same time, it brought certain warmth into the operating theaters otherwise sterile coldness. Some associates found the music intrusive, but most didn't stop him from listening to it during surgery.

The suppressed sound of the heart monitor floated from behind a viewless screen.

His patient was twenty-nine. At forty-two Ben felt ancient. He realized as soon as his surgical team assembled this wasn't a typical operation on a trauma victim.

This patient familiar to the staff worked as a fireman/paramedic for LA County, more specifically one with ties to the hospital.

His surgical team included three members; two of whom Ben worked with before, and one he had not. It wasn't everyday the head of the ER department undertook such a lengthy surgery. Ben understood. The paramedics working out of this hospital were under the direct leadership of Kelly Brackett. That the ER doctor chose to follow this patient into surgery called attention to a friendship, and made quite an impression on Ben.

The surgeon shifted his weight to relieve the pressure from his feet. Gunshot wounds were nasty business. Tracing the path of a bullet and repairing damage done by its destructive energy required endurance from the patient and surgeon. Thoracic surgery meant long stretches of time spent on your feet. He was used it and glancing at his silent assistant he imagined so was he. The ER could get hectic as hell.

As the music flowed in and around Ben his fingers manipulated the instruments of his trade lightly—skillfully—an artist performing the talents of his profession; the art of healing.

Roughly, two hours ago, Ben thought, this man could walk, talk, and breathe under his own control. Now in full-anesthetized surrender, two surgeons probed his traumatized insides determined to make him whole once more. Delicately he tied off a suture. Two more would finish sealing off this particular laceration. His steady hand once again dipped, hooked, and pulled. He tied it off. Irrigation came next, and he tested the newly placed suture satisfied it would hold.

He glanced at the anesthesiologist monitoring vital signs. "How's our patient doing, Stengel?"

"BP is 70/50 and still fluctuating, pulse holding steady at 82."

Benjamin placed the final suture repairing the lung laceration, and straightened his stooped posture. Kel reviewed Halifax's latest handiwork with a critical eye.

"Are you seeing it Kel? Looks good. We have partial inflation of the lung." A nurse dabbed the sweat from Ben's forehead.

Kel heard the sense of accomplishment, and a touch of something else, something Kel personally understood—awe-inspired humility. Halifax's determination to heal kept pace with his patients fight for life. _Good, don't loose it._

Ben's body suddenly stiffened his joy short-lived. "Suction," he said intently, sopping up red liquid with a surgical sponge, searching. He fleetingly looked up at the nearly empty blood bag suspended from the IV pole. "Hang another unit."

Kel methodically placed a suction device into the cavity and siphoned the excess liquid; the sound invading everyone's ears. "Forth or fifth intercostal bundle?" He didn't receive an answer.

A fresh unit of whole blood replaced the depleted bag.

Abruptly the heart monitor gave way to an irregular rhythm sending a shot of adrenaline into the veins of those present.

"BP dropping, 60/30, pulse rapid," the anesthesiologist warned.

"You know what to do, Stengel," Ben urged.

Stengel adjusted the drip on one of the IVs. The unsteady rhythm settled, bounced, and settled again.

Kel frowned. John's blood pressure started fluctuating after the first hour, and even with the medications given to help keep it stable, the longer he stayed under anesthesia and the fact he was actively bleedin His eyes lingered for a moment on the internal defibrillator paddles. His jaw clenched.

In control and intensely focused Ben continued his search. His head lifted for a moment. His eyes swung to the x-ray wall were a series of six, brightly back-lit, images were on display. White shadows peppered the surface of one, and this is the one Ben concentrated on.

"Ah, you are right; it's intercostal," he said, his eyes dropping back to the patient. Another moment and he moved his body slightly to allow Kel to notice what he discovered. "The fifth intercostal vein, see it, it's torn—here—and here. Clamping it off now." A small sigh puffed out his surgical mask.

Ben reached out a hand and the scrub nurse offered him his next instrument of choice.

Kel watched Ben take the instrument, his hand steady. Sudden changes might rattle a less assured doctor, but Halifax could handle fire under pressure.

"Hopefully this is the last surprise of the evening," Ben said, as if reading Kel's mind. Looking through the surgical microscope he carefully began the repair to the vein. "He has an uphill battle. Let's try and level off the mountain."

Brackett agreed, thinking the strains of violin music sounded like a wail. . . .

— — —

"Why did Ryan's daddy hurt Uncle Johnny, Mommy?" Jennifer asked.

When Joanne broke the news to the children, she anticipated an immediate response of anger, tears, or both from them. However, Chris stoically accepted what she told him asking if Ryan was okay; Jennifer's response wasn't typical either. Maybe seeing Lisa distracted her. Maybe the news didn't fully sink in, but there were no tears from her. Instead, Jennifer stuck close to Lisa, until Lisa's mother arrived. Joanne suggested to Liz she make use of the master bedroom; it would be quiet, and private for her talk with Lisa.

Seated in the living room with Jennifer snuggled up against her, and _Mr. Wrinkle_ cuddled in Jennifer's lap, Jo absently stroked her daughter's hair. Chris sat on the other side of her mesmerized by her hand sliding back and forth.

"Ryan's daddy wasn't thinking clearly," she said. "He was angry, and he made some poor choices."

Her daughter's owl stare demanded a clearer explanation.

"When you're angry at Chris, or one of your friends, what happens?"

"I can be mean, sometimes."

Joanne nodded. "Because you're angry, you forget the rules. You may feel sorry later, but once you've done something you know to be wrong, you can't take it back. Ryan's dad forgot the rules too; it turned into a great big mistake he couldn't take back."

"When I break a rule you make me sit in the _quiet time _chair, or go to my room. Will Ryan's daddy be in time out too?"

"Yes something like it," Joanne answered. His 'time out' would be a prison cell, and justly deserved she thought angrily, and then felt shame when she remembered the look on Ryan's face.

Chris asked suddenly, "Mom, Uncle Johnny is gonna be okay, right?"

Her hand stilled. In the not-so-distant past, she did this very same thing, breaking bad news. In those other times she'd known of the outcome of Johnny's injuries before she told them; known decisively he would make a full recovery. This time, however, she didn't have the answer, and it scared her.

"The doctors are doing everything they can for him."

"Whaddya mean, doing everything, they can. Y-you mean he coul die?"

Before Joanne had time to react to his question, Jennifer, listening intently, displayed the first emotional response since hearing the news. She made a fist.

"Mommy, Daddy told me my heart is this big." She held up her clenched hand. "Can hearts break for real, and not want to get better?"

"I don't understand—"

"Daddy cares for hearts that are broken. He told me sometimes they don't get better."

"Yes, Jen—"

Suddenly she blurted, "My heart hurts." She clutched Mr. Wrinkle dissolving into sobs. "If Uncle Johnny goes to heaven it won't ever get better."

— — —

Sitting at the edge of the bed in the DeSoto' master bedroom, Liz's eyes softened as she gazed down at her daughter. Joanne told her what happened at the sheriffs' station. Lisa was doing remarkable well, overall.

"Why can't we go to the hospital?"

"The doctors are doing everything they can for Johnny."

"Yes, but I want to go," she said stubbornly. "Johnny is my brother."

"Your father thinks you will be more comfortable here; I agree. There isn't anything we can do for him, sweetheart. Your father promised to call as soon as he knows anything."

A hard defiant light entered her eyes, and fresh tears fell. "Yes, I can do something!"

Liz pulled her daughter into her arms hugging her fiercely. Brushing a strand of hair away from her Lisa's eyes, she said, "what, what can you do?"

"I want to give Johnny back his necklace!"

At her daughter's reply, something stirred deep within Liz. "Why honey? He wanted you to have it."

"B-because it will remind hi w-want him to have it back, so he knows I love him."

"Oh, honey," she said, giving her daughter a squeeze, and kissing her forehead. "Johnny knows!"

She pulled away. "I didn't tell him," she whispered. "I want to tell him."

Lisa's declaration seared Liz's heart. "I want you believe he is in the best of hands. The doctors were able to care for him right away. I know this is scary; it is for all of us."

"Please, Mommy!"

"Maybe if you talk about what happened today—"

Lisa shook her head wildly, and jumped to her feet.

Liz frowned. She wanted her daughter to open up, give voice to her fears, but her fear and agitation were too strong. She backed off.

"All right Lisa," Liz crooned. "You don't have to talk about anything right now, but eventually you know you will have to. Remember you are safe."

Lisa turned aside, but nodded. "I want to go downstairs now."

— — —

A nasty headache kept Max tossing restlessly on the narrow bed.

Desperately he tried to fall asleep, but his mind refused to let him take a break. He kept going over the confrontation with Rodger. He felt Rodger's hand around his neck squeezing, his breath slowly cut off and not having the strength to stop it from happening. He heard Johnny urging Rodger to ease up on as darkness descended. He thought he was having a nightmare when he came too because the sight of the police, and all the blood—couldn't be real. He backed away from the memory.

Johnny was still in surgery and Rodger wound up in ICU. An allergic reaction to one of the medicines administered during surgery stopped his heart. They managed to get it beating again reversing the effects. They finished the surgery, but Rodger hadn't awakened yet.

Max wondered if Margery were here.

He pushed the call button on the side of his bed.

"Is there something you need Mr. Barrett?" the nurse asked him when she answered his call.

He asked her if he had any visitors.

The answer was no.

He then asked for an update on his brother-in-law and on Johnny.

"You really should try and rest." She told him.

He mutely nodded; there would be no resting until he had answers.

— — —

Margery hesitated at the door to Rodger's room. Did she want to go in? Rodger brought nothing but pain to countless people today. He hurt Max and Johnny. He meant to steal Ryan away, and had he succeeded she may have never gotten a chance to hold her son again.

She couldn't face him right now. Margery turned and walked away.

— — —

Hank studied the man gazing out the window. John senior maintained his distance even if he looked liked a man who needed to talk. The man wanted reconciliation with a son who resisted. Hank tried hard not to pass judgment it wasn't his right. Everyone, he thought, had his or her own personal demons to battle. At John's invitation his father was here attempting to make good, but the emotional toll extracted from Johnny, and the painful struggle of watching him find his way, wasn't an easy thing to digest.

What would happen now?

— — —

John senior stared out the window into the night. The face of a tired, damaged man reflected back. He wondered if this is what other's saw too. On the other hand, did they see something much worse? Did they see the scarred face of his past? He avoided his gaze and moved away from the glass; too many questions lurked behind those eyes challenging him for answers he didn't have.

He looked toward the group of men sitting quietly together in companionable silence. John's closest friends. They came to support one another. Had he allowed it, they would have offered him the same. By what right did he deserve it? Biologically he claimed the title of John's father. In every other way, he failed in that claim. John's invitation had raised his hope. He wanted a breakthrough where meaningful dialog would pave the way for deeper understanding. It didn't work out. The visit started out badly, and never recovered. The fault for it rested on his shoulders. Liz warned him to go slowly. He thought he'd chink the armor, gain entrance into John's impenetrable wall of distrust. Too late, he understood what Liz had been trying to tell him. By pressing too hard, and too fast, John erected a stronger wall.

He pushed his thoughts in another direction. Scheduled to leave tomorrow morning, he wouldn't be on that plane. This is where he would stay until John told him otherwise. He hadn't spoken with Liz since she dropped him off, and had no idea where they stood. He would call her soon. His thoughts reverted to the conversation with Lt. Decker. As he absorbed the painful details of what his daughter endured, and the grievous injury to his son—anger built. The acid in his stomach churned and his chest squeezed tightly warning him to keep calm or he'd trigger an angina attack. He struggled for control in silence. He wanted to talk with his daughter, to hear for himself how she coped. He wanted to hold her within the comfort of his arms and give whatever hope he could. He dropped his eyes to his wristwatch, surprised to see how much time had passed. He would need to call the DeSoto house soon.

He watched the approach of another set of paramedics as they entered the waiting room. The third of the night. News was beginning to find it's away around. The shocked faces and heavy concern said more about his son's character than all the letters Rose ever sent him. To help him from sinking into self-pity he closed his eyes and recited a prayer. "_Lord, make me a channel of thy peace_ He attempted to clear his head afterward—think of nothing. It wasn't possible. Snippets of conversation roamed the halls of his mind.

"_Grace, we have to get John to the hospital, he's burning up!"_

_'Your son is very ill, sir. We'd like to admit him.'_

"_Grace, you need sleep. I'll stay with John."_

_'Sir, your wife has contracted pneumonia, a complication of the flu. She's being moved into the intensive care unit.'_

_'I want Mama!'_

_"Easy John."_

_"No! Grace, you can't leave me!"_

_'Time of death . . .'_

_'We have to take her away now, sir.'_

_'Mr. Gage, your son is out of danger.'_

"_You're the reason she's gone, boy. Get away from me."_

_'Everything you've already suffered will pale in comparison to the pain of losing your child. You will find no comfort at all in the bottom of that bottle when another gravestone marker sits next your wife's in the cemetery.'_

"_It's time I let John go, Rose. I'm no good for him this way; take John to LA."_

"_I know what it is I've asked of you Rose, but John is my son. I would like to see him!"_

_'He doesn't want to see you.'_

"Mr. Gage?" Dragged into the present, he found Marco standing next to him. "The surgery is over."

— — —

The hands on the wall clock pushed toward eleven o'clock.

Roy spotted Bracket with another surgeon in tow, still wearing surgical scrubs, making their way toward them.

Conversation ceased as they all anxiously waited for one of the doctors to speak. Johnny's father wheeled himself over to the group.

Both men looked weary and their clothing sweat stained, but Brackett did not hesitate. "Johnny is in recovery. He'll be moved to the surgical ICU for monitoring."

There were exclamations of relief. Roy declined to join in. Brackett wore the look of someone not completely satisfied.

Chet asked, "Doc? Does this mean Johnny's gonna be okay?"

Brackett looked at each of the men present. His deep baritone voice soothed yet gave a no nonsense explanation. "Gentlemen, I'm cautiously optimistic at this point. Johnny made it through the surgery. He's young and strong, and the next few hours should tell us more."

Standard reply for Brackett, Roy thought. His eyes narrowed.

"What is the nature of his injuries Doctor Brackett?" John questioned.

Kel debated on how much information he would share. He kept information of this nature to immediate family members. He considered the circumstances. The fact Johnny's father sat before him, made a difference in how he handled the situation. Roy usually heard the most pertinent information first. If he chose to share it with the others, that was up to him. These men dealt with injury as part of the job with regularity. A close working relationship existed between them, as well as friendships. He gave Johnny's father an opportunity to decide what information he would share.

"Sir, would you like to discuss your son's situation in private?"

"No, let the others hear."

Kel wasted no time in explaining while using layman's terms for Johnny's father. Giving Roy his attention he began, "The bullet passed through the muscle of his mid-upper right arm, grazed the humerus and fractured it, deflected downward, and exited about here." He indicated a spot on his underarm. Johnny's arm absorbed the energy and slowed the bullet before it entered his chest. There is considerable swelling causing compression on the nerve branches. Once the swelling resides, we will do further testing to determine the degree, if any, of nerve damage."

Roy's mind worked feverishly. The bullet caused a temporary cavity to form along its path, damaging and disrupting soft tissue. Any of the nerves damaged would limit movement and sensation—

He tuned back in. "The bullet breached the chest wall causing the right lung to partially collapse. The fourth and fifth ribs fractured." His voice stilled giving his audience a chance to digest what they heard. "The fifth rib caused a small laceration of the lung. The fracturing of the ribs tore the fifth intercostal vein." For the benefit of Johnny's father, he added, "that's the collection of arteries, veins and nerves, which run under the ribs. Dr. Halifax repaired it. We cleaned up the splinters, and removed the bullet "

There was complete silence when he finished. Every one of their faces had grown pale. Brackett feared he'd been too graphic in his explanation.

"What is the bottom line here Doctor?" Johnny's father questioned, his hands gripped the sides of his chair. "Will there be any permanent damage from these injuries? What about infection?"

Roy had been set to ask this question.

Brackett gave nothing away as he said, "Dr. Halifax, is the thoracic surgeon," he said indicating the man to his side, "I'll let him explain."

Dr. Halifax exchanged handshakes. Roy knew of Dr. Benjamin Halifax by reputation only. Hailing from Canada, his skill on the operating table impressed the nurses.

"John lost a significant amount of blood, which we replaced with transfusions," the surgeon explained. "Two thoracostomy tubes will facilitate drainage and will assist in the re-inflation of the lung. Thankfully, there wasn't penetration of the abdominal wall. The risk of infection due to the collapsed lung is a possibility. There is also risk of infection from foreign material dragged into the body from the penetration. We are monitoring the situation closely. He is receiving IV antibiotics and the ventilator will aid the lung until the lung can function effectively on its own. The ribs will take longer to heal because of the severity of the break and because these ribs have been broken before."

When Halifax paused Roy said, "Johnny will be on the ventilator, one, possible two days then."

Halifax nodded. "He is in an extremely weakened condition right now."

Thank you handshakes ended the explanation. Dr. Halifax took his leave, but Brackett did not go with him. He quietly told the group, "Aside form John's immediate family, Captain Stanley, and Roy, for the next twenty-four hours, I have issued a no visitation order. You may call the surgical desk for an update."

This news generated disappointed looks all around, though no one complained aloud. They understood.

Marco, Mike, and Chet departed the room together.

"You guys go ahead," Marco told his friends out in the hallway.

Mike and Chet knew were he would wind up. Mike gave Chet a silent signal.

"We'll come with you," Mike said.

In silence, the three made their way toward the hospital chapel.

— — —

Brackett's demeanor altered from ER clinical physician and surgeon to a friend, his body relaxing and his voice carrying an air of reassurance. "Mr. Gage," Brackett said, "if you're ready you may see your son, but only for a few minutes."

John senior shook his head. "No."

Kel frowned looking to Roy and Hank before asking, "Is there a problem?"

"I'm not sure if John would welcome my visit."

Brackett's frown deepened. "I don't understand, Mr. Gage."

"Dr. Brackett," he said wearily, "I am not trying to be difficult. The last thing I would want is to upset things further, but John and I have a strained relationship. I'm not exactly sure where I fit in to all this."

"Mr. Gage," Kel said his arms crossing over his chest in his impatience, "as your son's physician I'll respect you're feelings in this matter, but I believe a mistake is being made."

Hank stepped in. "May I say something?"

John nodded.

"I don't know you," Hank began, "but I do know your son. These past months he has struggled is still struggling with issues of which you are aware. For his sake, don't turn away."

John looked into Hank's eyes and saw the deep respect and affection he held for his son. He slowly nodded.

— — —

"Thank you for checking up on me, Emily," Joanne said at the door. The house had grown quiet, the kids no longer able to stay awake. Chris fell asleep while reading in his room, and the girls were asleep in front of the TV.

"I'll talk with you in the morning." Giving her friend a hug, she said encouragingly, "he's going to be fine."

Walking passed the couch, Joanne looked at the two girls relaxed in sleep. She didn't think she would be getting much of that tonight.

She joined Liz in the kitchen. She hoped the phone would ring soon.

— — —

A sigh, lengthy and deep, escaped from Hank. He placed a reassuring hand on Roy's shoulder. "I can arrange for you to take the day off tomorrow."

"No, I'm better off at work. I don't—" Roy wavered a moment.

Hank reached for him. "Roy?"

Roy sat down heavily his legs no longer had the strength to support him. He closed his eyes. A pregnant silence filled the space. Hank broke it.

"Roy, are you all right?"

"I'm supposed to be the level-headed one." A restrained bitterness affected the way he spoke. "I don't feel very level-headed at the moment."

Roy's expression gave Hank pause. Five years of working with the man, and he was certain he never witnessed such a look. It was there now, undisguised, and arresting—the extreme face of anger.

"Clayton is on this floor Cap, in the same ICU ward. Right now I don't trust myself to be that close."

"You want to talk about it?" Hank said sitting down next to him.

"Not really. Excuse me, I need to call Joanne."

— — —

John sat watching his son's chest rise and fall with each ventilated breath. His face was sheet paper pale. Half his chest laid swathed in stained pink-orange bandages, his swollen right arm in a brace. His wrists tethered to the bed, as a precautionary measure against pulling on the ventilator, wasn't an easy sight to see. Trussed up to the thing after his accident and surgery, he understood the need of it, but cringed nonetheless. The tubes and IVs didn't disturb him as much as the forced mechanical breaths. It would always remind him of Grace's last day.

"God, how did you end up here . . .?" He reached out, and did the one thing he hadn't done since John was eleven years old. He held his hand. There wasn't any resistance. "Don't die. . . ."

— — —

Hank stepped into the room. The lack of privacy, the thoracostomy tubes, the blood hanging from the I.V. pole, the timed clicking of the vent, the catheter and dressings draped across his chest, transported him to another time, seeing another patient lying on an ICU bed. A much younger version of him stood next to his dying father. He heard the anger in the words of long ago, as if he had just uttered them. "_Why? Why didn't you let anyone tell me about this Dad? Did you think this way would be less painful? I got news for you. It's __worse—much worse." _

"Sir?" a voice startled him into awareness. A nurse was standing by his side, her hand on his arm.

"Yes?"

"Are you all right? Do you need to sit down?"

Hank shook his head and continued to John's side. He looked so vulnerable. "Remind me later, you need a haircut." Unexpectedly, a wave of hot, hard, anger swept through him. None of this was right!

The ICU nurse understood completely. It was always a shock for the parents to see their loved one hooked up like a failed science experiment.

"Sir, your son is resting comfortably. He isn't in pain."

Hank didn't correct her mistake. He bent his head. After a few minutes he said, "John everyone is here for you . . ."

The ventilator alarm sounded. Looking around in confusion, he realized the sound wasn't coming from the one in this room. He watched as a nurse rushed past and into the room next door.

"You shouldn't be in here." He heard the nurse say. "Mr. Clayton, you are in the hospital . . ."

Hank quickly went to the doorway and looked toward the other room.

His eyes rose.

— — —

* * *

_Author note: For those of you interested, here is the full version of the prayer mentioned in the chapter. Review :-)_

_St Francis Prayer_

_Lord, make me a channel of thy peace, that where there is hatred, I may bring love; that where there is wrong, I may bring the spirit of forgiveness; that where there is discord, I may bring harmony; that where there is error, I may bring truth; that where there is doubt, I may bring faith; that where there is despair, I may bring hope; that where there are shadows, I may bring light that where there is sadness, I may bring joy. Lord, grant that I may seek rather to comfort than to be comforted; to understand, than to be understood; to love, than to be loved. For it is by self-forgetting that one finds. It is by forgiving that one is forgiven. It is by dying that one awakens to Eternal Life. _


	17. Chapter 17

_I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with 'em._

Forgiveness Factor

Written by: Kianda

Chapter Seventeen

* * *

_The dawn of a new day brings with it the promise of all things possible._

* * *

He knew he shouldn't have come in here. A self-punishing response maybe or was it a morose sense of curiosity? Whatever the reason, he stared down at the man in the bed with an intense gaze. _For all your show, you are cowardly, small, a pitiful man, a fool among many. _He flinched since the description adequately portrayed the man he'd been. _You and I have a lot in common, unfortunately." _

"Clayton." John said sharply, giving Rodger's shoulder a hard shake.

Rodger slowly opened his eyes, trying to orient himself. His tongue snaked out to relieve dry lips. "Water," he whispered. A coughing spell racked him. A high pitched alarm went off.

"Look at me." John said.

Rodger's head turned toward him.

A nurse appeared.

"You shouldn't be in here," she commanded quieting the alarm. "Mr. Clayton, you are in the hospital. You are in the surgical ICU." She poured water from a hospital pitcher by the bed into a plastic cup, placing a straw into it. "You had surgery to both of your legs. If you breathe normally the disorientation and coughing will pass. The doctor will be here shortly." She placed the straw into his mouth. "Take only a sip. This will help relieve the dryness."

John didn't move. "You miserable bastard. You threatened my eight-year-old daughter at the point of a gun, and left her brother in critical condition. "

"Sir!" The nurse said in alarm.

Clayton became wide-eyed. He moved in restlessness, and his heart rate increased reflecting on the monitor.

"How does it feel, to be on the receiving end."

"W- what do you want?" he rasped.

"Sir, I must ask that you leave," the nurse spoke firmly, "before I'm forced to call security."

"Sarah is there a problem?" A second, older, nurse entered the room.

"No, ma'am," she told her supervisor. "Mr. Gage was just leaving."

The head surgical floor nurse briefly glanced the patient's way, before looking at John. "Sir, I appreciate how difficult this situation is for you, but regardless of what this man has done, I can not allow you to harass him."

"Mr. Gage, this won't change anything," Hank said quietly from the doorway.

"No, it won't," John said, turning his chair around, facing Hank. He looked formidable and for a brief moment Hank caught a glimpse of the man Johnny told them about. It left Hank shaken. He stepped aside as John wheeled his chair past him. John halted briefly at Johnny's room before continuing past.

Hank followed him out into the waiting room.

— — —

Liz sat down at the kitchen table. "Thank you, for allowing me the use of your phone; please let me to pay for the long-distance calls."

"Don't think anything of it, "Joanne said. "Would you like more coffee?"

She declined. "I am truly grateful, Joanne, for the warmth you've extended, for taking care of Lisa, and opening your home to us this way. I know it can't be easy. We are strangers."

"I don't see any strangers here. I see Johnny's family." Changing the subject she asked, "how did you make out with the airlines?"

Liz appreciated Joanne's words more than she knew. Captain Stanley's wife coming to see if she could do anything for them showed her how close this family, Johnny, and the men of 51 were to each other.

"I managed to change our flight," Liz explained. She went on to say how she extended her leave until January third. "For Lisa's and John's sake, I wish it could be longer. I didn't have much troubling rescheduling our flight. Montana isn't a place people are traveling too this time of the year. We leave the morning of the second."

Joanne nodded. "You are welcome to stay here, if you'd rather not stay at the hotel tonight."

"Again, that's very kind, but I'm sure John will want us to remain together."

The phone rang. Joanne jumped to her feet. She picked it up before it could ring a second time.

Her eyes locked on Liz. "Hello?"

Through the phone, the tired voice of her husband reached out to her. "Johnny is in recovery, Jo."

"Thank God!" She breathed leaning heavily against the kitchen counter. Placing her hand over the receiver Joanne repeated the information.

Liz nodded, and slowly sank back into the chair, closing her eyes.

Roy said, "Listen Jo, I'm headed in to check on Johnny. I'll explain more when I get home. I'll hitch a ride with Hank. Tell Liz she won't need to come to the hospital. We'll see John gets to the hotel. How are you holding up . . .?"

— — —

Seated in the doctor's lounge with his hands cradled around a coffee mug, Kel said, "Halifax's skill certainly isn't exaggerated."

"I could have told you that," Dixie said one eye quirked. "Johnny's is in fine hands."

"Careful, Dix, sounds suspiciously like surgeon worship to me."

"Wel I've fallen into that trap before."

Lifting his mug in mock salute, Kel looked away. He could feel his face flushing.

Dixie stood realizing she made him uncomfortable. Their failed relationship wasn't his fault, or hers, they were just better off as friends. "I'm sorry, Kel. I shouldn't have said that. My break is over."

"I'll be in my office or upstairs if you need anything," he said, looking into his almost empty cup. "And, Dix," his expressive eyes rose to hers, "I haven't given up hope."

"You're exhausted," she said lightly. "There's no sense in me telling you to go home is there?"

"Joe already had this argument with me and lost."

— — —

Marco raised his head, made the sign of the cross, and settled back in his chair. This late in the evening the three men were the only one's using the chapel.

Chet spoke to his companions, "I can't stop thinking about how crazy this whole thing is. Less than a week ago we were celebrating Christmas."

Mike looked at his two friends. "Listen, Johnny is a fighter, we all know it."

"Yeah," Chet said, inclining his head. "Nothing keeps Johnny down for long, but even Johnny has limits, man."

— — —

Roy entered the brightly lit room. Both hands gripped the side rail as he took in the full picture. He felt nauseated all over again. Two chest tubes lines snaked away from Johnny's chest, the plastic tubing allowing the air to escape, and fluid to drain from around his weakened lung and surgical site. Deep purple bruises mottled areas across his chest and side. A bandage covered his large incision site. His injured arm tucked inside a soft brace lay slightly elevated, resting on a pillow. Roy's eyes strayed to the ventilation tube, an intrusive invade but a necessary one. His hands squeezed the bed rail tighter. _As painful as it will be, you need to wake up Johnny. __You've been down too long._

Roy ignored Johnny's nurse along with her sympathy laden glances as she recorded data, took vitals, checked lines, and replaced IV fluids. After a few minutes, he woodenly forced his feet to move.

A hospital security guard sat outside of Clayton's room. Anger rolled over Roy anew.

— — —

_On its way to the sea, the sparkling mountain stream gurgled and bubbled through the moss-covered rocks worn smooth by the constant passage of water. Along the fertile banks, wild strawberries covered the ground, the berries red and ripe. Horse and rider stopped. The rider slid from the painted ones back; hungry he picked a handful of berries, popping them into his mouth savoring their sweetness. Evening approached. The air hummed with life. Crickets, croakers, insects, and birds harmonized together as nature's symphony played a song of serenity. Stay here it beckoned. Rest awhile . . ._

_Tempted though he was he did not linger. _

_As the man and horse wandered along the banks, the harmony began to fade, replaced by a steady murmur in the distance. It increased in volume at his advance. When he came upon the source, the thunderous voice vibrated the ground under his feet. Its icy breath chilled him, and cast away his feeling of peace and safety. _

_Whitewater, hurtling unrestrained through stone crevice and gully, charged over half-submerged boulders forced into place by some giant long-ago hand. Johnny longed for the tranquility he left behind. He turned to retrace his steps. No trace of a path existed. Thick forest growth blocked his way. He looked for an opening. With each attempt, a new layer of growth appeared until the way back became impenetrable. The path forward remained clear, unblemished by either foliage or footprint, but abruptly fell away into the raging water. _

_My path hides from me._

_He urged the horse forward. The skittish animal refused to move becoming agitated, rearing up in protest. Johnny spilled from its back. He slowly came to his feet, wondering what spooked his mount. Over the roar of the water, he heard it. Old Woman Storyteller pounded the drum. _

_"Come, would you like to hear a story told to me by my mother and her mother before her, and so on to the time when Old Man roamed the world? This is how it happened ."_

_An Indian flute played. The soulful echo of timeless notes offered a promise of safety, the assurance of rest. Come closer friend, it invited. Curiosity too, sent him forward. Who held the instrument of his childhood? The misty image beckoned him, closer. He drew nearer to the music aware how dangerously close to the water's edge he came._

_Old Woman began to weave her tale. "Coyote the trickster is always out there waiting." _

— — —

When Johnny's nurse came to check on her patient, Dr. Brackett occupied a chair next to the bed.

"Is there something you need Dr. Brackett?"

"No, I'm just sitting with a friend," he said.

— — —

Roy quietly closed the front door, turned the lock, and placed his keys on the side table. He tried to suppress a yawn. He failed. The chimes from the grandfather clock striking twelve followed him through the house. A lamp shone dully as he passed the living room. He noticed his daughter sleeping on the sofa.

"Roy," his wife called softly from the vicinity of the stairs, "will you carry Jen to her bed?"

He carefully lifted his daughter who murmured, but didn't waken as her head rested against his shoulder. She didn't stir as he carried her up the stairs, nor when he entered the room. Jo turned down the covers, and he gently laid her upon the bed smoothing back the hair from her forehead. He tucked the covers around her, and stood watching her a moment. She turned onto her side. Fighting an overwhelming surge of emotion, he quickly moved away form the bed.

He entered the haven of his bedroom, and sat at the edge of his bed. Untying his shoes he slipped one—then the other—from his aching feet with a grunt. He noticed the dark stains blotting areas of the black leather. He quickly pushed the shoes under the bed.

Joanne noticed the hospital scrubs. Roy wouldn't have changed unless his clothes wer she quickly stilled her thoughts. Coming up behind him on the bed, she placed her hands onto his shoulders. They were rock hard. She pressed her fingers into the muscle kneading out the tightness. As much as she needed answers, she held her questions. Roy wasn't up to answering them just yet. She silently massaged his shoulders for a few minutes, waiting.

"Umm," he sighed appreciatively.

She continued her ministration.

Softly he said, "I didn't feel right leaving. His condition is critical, Jo."

Her hands faltered but didn't quit. "He's alive, Roy. What is it you tell me? Take one day at a time?"

He reached up stilling her hands. "When I saw him on the floo didn't think he would make it." He went on to explain everything. He left nothing out.

— — —

_The old woman's voice had long faded into silence but Johnny wasn't making headway. Though he walked toward the one who held the flute he didn't advance. He felt as if he walked in place. The trail stretched on He began to tire. He could walk no further. The mystical figure of his ancestry let the last note from the flute trill to a stop. The mist lightened and parted. Startled he stepped backward. There wasn't anything mystical about this form! His father stared at him with a hungry needy expression, arms reaching for him. The angry roar of the water grew louder. Images flashed rapidly in front of him. His mother's grave, then Shannon's; the leering faces of childhood bullies, and Rodger taunting him, his sister and Ryan; each produced a memory. Each demanding his attention. He shied away from the onslaught. He took another step back. His foot slipped_

— — —

The pace in the ER slowed giving Dixie an opportunity to head upstairs. She talked briefly with the head SICU nurse before making her way into Johnny's room. Kel, dozing in a chair next to the bed lifted his head when he felt her presence. She smiled.

"Nurse Calhoun told me you were in here," she said coming around to the opposite side of the bed. "She said you're making her girls nervous, Kel."

"Oh?"

"They're not used to seeing you hanging about SICU at night. A couple of them are jumpy. Any change?" she asked her eyes softening as she looked at Johnny.

"Not yet," he said standing to stretch. "I was hoping for a return to consciousness by now."

She watched for the slightest movement. "I know."

"We've done our part," Kel said. "Now it's up to him to do his."

_ Johnny wobbled at the edge unable to maintain his balance. He felt himself falling. He hit the water, and the strong current caught him instantly driving him under The shadow of night deepened._

The steadiness of the monitor changed. Alarms started going off.

Brackett honed in on the monitor. "Ventricular Tachycardia!" he said immediately lowering the head of the bed.

Dixie called for help, and went for the crash cart.

— — —

"_Uncle Johnny!" _The terrified scream split the night. "_Daddy, Daddy!" _

"I have her," Roy tiredly told Joanne.

As he passed his son's room, the door opened. Chris mumbled, "What's the matter?"

"_Daddy!"_

"Jennifer's having a nightmare Chris; it's alright," Roy told him. "Go back to bed."

"What time is it?"

Roy looked at his watch. "Late."

"Dad is Uncle Johnny—"

"Chris?" Joanne said. "I'll explain." She followed Chris into his room and closed the door.

Roy's hand swept over the light switch in Jen's bedroom. Light revealed his daughter sitting in the middle of her bed in a tight ball, rocking back and forth, crying. She held tightly to Mr. Wrinkle. Her eyes were wide.

He hurried to her lifting her into his lap sitting on the bed with her. She immediately burrowed into his arms. "Daddy, please make him come back!"

He felt her forehead out of habit. She didn't have a fever, but she was sweating.

"Shh, shh, Jen, tell me what's wrong," he said soothingly.

Her fear was real. Her body shook in his arms. "Daddy, Uncle Johnny can't find his way home. He's lost."

Her words sent an icy foreboding through him. "Honey, Uncle Johnny is sleeping at the hospital. You were having a bad dream."

She shook her head, "No, Daddy, I saw him. Uncle Johnny was telling me a story. A horrible big black bird took him away. I want Uncle Johnny!" She cried into his chest.

"Shh, I know sweetheart, I know," he said quietly, trying to calm her. "It was just a dream. The people at the hospital are taking good care of him for us."

Shimmering, trust-filled eyes looked to him. "Do you p-promise, Daddy?"

He nodded, attempting to ease her back against her pillows. She immediately stiffened. Her arms tightened painfully around his neck.

"No, Daddy, don't leave!"

"Sh alright," he said, "I'll stay until you fall asleep. Close your eyes," he instructed. She released his neck, obediently doing as he asked. He lay next to her and smoothed her hair back giving her a kiss on her brow.

"I love you, Daddy."

He held her tightly, "I love you too, sweetheart."

Over time, he felt Jennifer relax against him in sleep. It took great effort to rise from the bed, tired in both mind and body. He knew it was a dream Jen had but uneasiness prompted him to head for the phone in the living room.

— — —

John remained sleepless. Footsteps tread past their hotel room door, and soon after he heard a door slam somewhere on the floor. The rattle of the heater in the room, kept him, company. Light escaped from the partially opened bathroom door, the glow touching the forms of Liz and Lisa asleep in the next bed. His eyes lingered on his daughter. She hadn't reacted as he thought she would. When she returned to the hotel, instead of coming straight to him, she displayed a restrained coolness, a reluctance to share her emotions with him, something she hadn't ever done before. This should have been the dead giveaway. It wasn't until she refused his comfort that he knew something permanently changed, between them. Her eyes held a depth of understanding that hadn't been present before. He knew it as sure as he breathed. Lisa found out the reason for the rift between father and son. His heart ached.

Had he lost his daughter to the ugly truth of his past?

— — —

_His head breaking the surface, Johnny gulped in a quick breath before the force of the water dragged him under again. The icy cold penetrated deep into his muscles making them slow. His lungs were bursting, he needed to breathe. His body sped downstream. He couldn't surface. _

— — —

"1.0/mg Lidocaine, IV push."

The runaway beats continued to cross the monitor.

"BP dropping rapidly. 50 by palpation."

"Charge paddles to 200."

The rising tones of the defibrillator gave way to a persistent whine.

Clear!"

The electrical current discharged through the paddles causing Johnny's body to jump slightly.

"No conversion. Again!"

The machine recycled.

_Johnny took an involuntary breath__e. W__ater entered his starved lungs. Everything stilled, becoming calm. He found himself back on the tranquil shore. Shadows encircled him one by one. They began to coalesce into solid forms. Warmth wrapped him in a comforting embrace. He felt free. He smiled and reached for the nearest outstretched hand ._

"Clear!"

Immediately the rapid beat converted to a quivering line.

"I've lost his pulse!"

"Start CPR."

"One milligram, Epinephrine. Charge paddles to 360."

Kel watched the red digital numbers cycle past, one hundred, two hundred, three hundred and sixty, steady whine.

"Hold CPR. Clear!"

Once against the paddles released their energy, making the body on the bed, shudder.

_The hand withdrew. The feeling of peace fled. A brilliant white light flared in front of him. The figures, and all surrounding light blinked out of existence. . . ._

"We have him back." Bracket said wiping the sweat from his forehead.

The monitor showed the return of sinus rhythm.

"To damn close," he mumbled.

— — —

Joanne gently closed the door to Chris's room, and entered Jennifer's. She found Roy gone. She headed downstairs.

He sat alone in the darkened living room.

"Roy? Why are you sitting down here? Come to bed."

When he made no move to rise she sat down next to him.

"I called the hospital."

He didn't have to spell it out for her. Her heart jumped to her throat.

"It was close; but they stabilized him," He said

— — —

Discharge papers in hand, Max called Margery for a ride home. He could have taken a taxi. His apartment wasn't far. But he called her because he hadn't seen her last night. He wanted to talk with her—find out how she and Ryan were coping. Now he argued with her. "Margery you can't avoid Rodger, forever."

"Don't you think I know this?" she said her voice restrained. I didn't sleep at all last night. I'm barely holding it together, Max. It was my gun. I don't want to see him."

Max felt badly for her. He heard the torment in her voice.

"He'll have to walk this walk alone. I'm done protecting him."

Her attitude truly did surprise him. "Margery, Rodger made some horribly bad decisions, but he's not a back ally criminal."

"Are you sure your head is right?" She asked angrily. "I can't believe even now after what he did, he has your loyalty. He could have killed you, Max! He waved a loaded gun around. His actions critically injured someone we both know. Johnny didn't deserve this! He was protecting you and the children! Rodger knew what he was doing. He bullied the wrong person this time, Max."

"He was drinking Margery; you know how it affects him."

"You're a funny one, Max. Rodger told me what you said to him the day he left prison. Now you're defending him. I think the person you believe to be your friend only exists in your mind. Rodger may have been that person a long time ago, but when are you going to accept who Rodger truly is?

"Margery—"

"Listen to me," she told him. "The true Rodger has bullied me for years, hurt me, and caused bodily harm to his son. I blamed it on the alcohol, fooling myself into believing he could change. It was so much easier to believe the lie, than brave the truth. Your nephew's depression-" she paused unable to bring herself to finish. "I took him back, even then. I couldn't deny the truth any longer when Ryan lay in the hospital. I swore to God, and myself, the next time Rodger screwed up I wouldn't allow him to drag me into his web of lies, or his empty promises. He didn't even wait out the month before he was hitting the bottle again! He threw away his second chance." Margery could no longer suppress her tears. Her voice broke. "You didn't see Ryan's face. My God I'm as much to blame as Rodger is. I _can't_ do this anymore. I _won't_ do this anymore. Rodger is going back t jail." Her voice caught. "He's on his own, just like he left me. I'll meet you out front, Max."

The line went dead.

— — —

The officer out in the hall gave Max a brief nod as he stepped into his brother-in-law's room.

Sounding weak and grimacing as he made himself more comfortable, Rodger said, "I didn't expect to see you, of all people."

"No accounting for stupidity," said Max taking in Rodger's appearance—pale and worn down.

"You're wasting your time. I have nothing to say. My rights have been read, and anything I say without the presence of my lawyer will be used against me in court."

Deep disappointment, rejection, and anger spurred Max's words. "You dumb s.o.b. You had to go and do things the hard way. People were willing to help you every step of the way. With the charges the police have against you won't see the outside of prison for at least ten years, if the court is generous. You destroyed any chance you had with your son!"

The officer came to the doorway at his raised voice. He made no move to enter.

"This should give you comfort then, Max." Roger said smiling coldly, "you won't have to come to my rescue anymore."

Max shook his head.

"What do you want from me, Max, an apology?"

"A reason why."

"Like you said, I'm a dumb s.o.b. Why should I have one? But, if it will let you rest at night, here it is. I wanted my son. I saw an opportunity and I went for it. Use that in court. Now get out."

All at once it hit him. It was as if Rodger were psychologically bankrupt. Max didn't recognize him anymore. It left him feeling sick. He stared at the stranger who showed zero remorse for the hardship and pain he inflicted on his family, and Johnny's. No apology for the treatment he himself had suffered at Rodger's hands. No attempt at communicating sorrow over the grievous wounds Johnny suffered. It was as if the emotional stress he placed on countless others didn't matter. He wanted to shake some feeling into him!

"Who are you?" He asked appalled.

"Nobody you'd like to know." Rodger closed his eyes.

Bitterly, Max walked away without another word.

— — —

Hank faced his men. A somber silence hung over the inspection line this morning.

He held up the morning paper for emphasis. "The journalistic hawks are circling," he informed them. "I've already fielded questions. You know the policy. If a reporter approaches you for a statement, refer him or her to our department's spokesperson." Looking at each of their tired and downcast faces had Hank adding. "Roy, you're the one they will try and make contact with. It's going to be a tough shift. People will be calling the station. Our thoughts are with Johnny and his family, but we can't let this distract us from our jobs." Hank looked to Barry Lewis station 36's C shift paramedic. "Good to have you on board, Lewis."

"I wish it were under different circumstances, Captain Stanley," he answered candidly.

"C shift already inventoried the medical supplies," he said looking at Roy. "You can head on over to Rampart as soon as we're done here."

He finished assigning the duties for the day. The line broke up with everyone quietly going about their morning business.

The phone rang.

"First of many, I'm certain," Hank complained walking into the kitchen. "Fire Station 51, Captain Stanley speaking, DeSoto, yeah he's here." Hank looked at Roy. "A Detective Stiles from the sheriff's department for you. Take it in my office."

"I'm fine here, Cap," said Roy, taking the phone. "DeSoto speaking yes Lt. Decker said you'd contact me. No, I haven't. It was hectic yesterday, detective. As soon as I have some free time, I'll be more than happy to prepare—"

"I can. If that will help. I'll be at the hospital in fifteen minutes for supplies. I can't guarantee we won't be interrupted."

Everything okay?" Hank asked when Roy hung up.

Roy scrubbed tiredly at his face. "Yeah," he sighed. "The detective wants my statement, says he'll meet me at the hospital."

"Go." Hank told him.

— — —

"I know your time is pressing so I do appreciate this," Stiles said." This case was on my desk when I arrived this morning. I'm trying to get myself up to speed."

Sitting in the hospital cafeteria, a lukewarm cup of coffee and untouched danish in front of him, Roy nodded, placing his signature and date on the line provided. He slid the finished paperwork toward the detective.

"Very detailed," Stiles commented as he scanned it.

"I've plenty of practice," Roy said matter-of-fact.

"Of course, in your line of work you would." Stiles placed the paperwork on the table. "I checked to see how your partner is doing. His condition is the same."

Roy stood when he spied Barry walk into the cafeteria. "I'm headed upstairs."

Stiles looked at Roy. "They tell me he hasn't regained consciousness. I was hoping to speak with him."

"You along with a number of other concerned people, detective."

"Listen, I know—"

What will happen with Clayton?"

Stiles wondered when they would get around to this. He understood the other's need for information. "He will be moved to the prison ward as soon as the hospital gives the go ahead for him to travel."

"Can't be soon enough for me," Roy said.


	18. Chapter 18

_I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with 'em._

Forgiveness Factor

Written by: Kianda

Chapter Eighteen

— — —

We are given the grace of hope in each new dawn.

_— — —  
_

* * *

_"_John, you can't be serious," Liz said. She leaned against the bathroom door, watching him shave. "After the news we received a few hours ago, I would think you would want Lisa to see Johnny?"

The razor stalled halfway to his face as he glanced at his wife through the partially fogged mirror. "You want her see to John while he's in SICU?"

"What I want isn't the issue," she informed him. "Like it or not, the reality is, we can't shield her from this anymore than we can wish away the events of yesterday. Lisa will want to see Johnny. It's that simple."

"I'm not blind, nor am I hiding behind a wall of wishful thinking, Liz." He directed the razor smoothly down one cheek, plunging the instrument of daily ritual into a sink full of warm water swishing it around. "It isn't as simple as you say." He lifted the razor from the water and tapped it against the sink's edge. "I'm concerned with the reaction she may have. The last time she saw her brother he was healthy. To tell you the truth I'm surprised you aren't more troubled with this."

"Wait a minute—"

"I want her to sleep this morning," he told her maneuvering the razor carefully over his chin.

"Wow, you are a little heavy handed. I'm not unconcerned—"

His hand paused. "It's been a long night, Liz. I'm in no mood to have a debate. I'm sorry if I've upset you. What is it you would have me do?"

"You tell me, John. You seem to have the answers."

The razor smacked the top of the bathroom counter. Shaving cream and water droplets spattered the mirror. "Stop pushing. I'm doing what I feel is in Lisa's best interest."

His display of anger didn't slow her down. "There's more to it."

He scowled and resumed shaving.

She knelt at his side placing her hand on his arm. "We always agree together on what is best for our daughter, John. This time I cannot. Keeping her from seeing Johnny, making her wait, isn't in her best interest. The possibility exists, if something happen she needs the opportunity to tell him she loves him. Whatever it is you are wrestling with, I know there's something; don't let it cloud your decision about this."

"You make it difficult to argue when you're so damned logical," he said. "I'm trying to protect her."

"Protect her from what? I don't understand."

"Forget it," he said stiffly. "We'll bring her to the hospital this afternoon. This will give you time to prepare her for what she'll see, and perhaps John will be awake."

She rose to her feet. "Something other than Johnny's situation has you on edge."

The razor slipped. He hissed threw his teeth. Grabbing a tissue, he applied pressure to a small nick. "Like what?"

"Lisa wasn't herself last evening. She didn't greet you when she came in, something she never fails to do."

_I noticed. _Without responding to her, he released the pressure against his face and began wiping away the lingering evidence of shaving cream. He made the mistake of glancing her way. Her intensive eyes bore down on him with the force of a run-a-way train._"_

A burdened sigh escaped from him. A trembling hand reached for one of hers, "I believe Lisa knows."

Her hand tightened painfully in his the moment she connected the dots. Eyes growing to two large circles, she said slowly, "Are you sure?"

— — —

Emerging from the Elevator, Kel sidestepped his office in favor of the nurse's station and a cup of coffee. The morning, thus far, had proven light by way of emergencies affording him the opportunity to grab a cup. A familiar figure sat on a stool portraying the picture of concentration. It wasn't unusual to see Dixie still working after shift change. He glanced at his watch. _Make that well beyond._

Foregoing the coffee he said, "Dixie, what are you still doing here?"

Dixie looked up. It impressed Kel that no matter how many hours of work she put in she managed to look together.

"Oh, the usual, Kel. The nursing rotation needed tweaking. There have been a few last minute substitutions. You know how it is this time of year."

A trace of a smile teased his lips. Dixie ran a tight ship but she did it through example. In his opinion, no one worked harder. Her attention to detail kept the ER running smoothly.

"Been up to see Johnny?" she asked.

He nodded, noting her hopeful tone. "No change."

The light in her eyes dimmed as if shuttered. He encircled her shoulders with one arm and he felt her lean slightly into him.

"Go home. You'll feel better after a few hours of rest."

"I doubt it. What will make me feel better is the news Johnny is awake and improving."

"You have my word. I will call you when it happens." Removing his arm from around her shoulders, he switched subjects. "Aren't you planning a party?"

The sparkle from her eyes faded altogether. "I'm no longer in a partying mood."

"Calling it off?"

She gave him a half-hearted shrug. "Tell me why I shouldn't."

"John wouldn't want you change your plans because of this."

Frost coated her words. "Since when have you become the authority on what Johnny Gage would want?"

_Uh-oh, not the intended reaction I was going for. _He shuffled uneasily. "What I'm trying to say, not very well I'm afraid, is Johnny would want you to keep the day meaningful. Surround yourself with friends. Something I highly recommend." The stern expression left him, and he relaxed his stance. "Besides, a party is a great distraction."

Her face softened and she followed up with an apology. "Forgive me Kel; I didn't mean to bring my bad mood down on you."

He waved her off.

Turning the pencil repeatedly in her hands she said, "I know what you're trying to do and I appreciate it. You're right of course. Johnny would tell me to keep my head up. Be forewarned, I'll probably make lousy company."

"I'm up for a challenge," he said, gently removing the pencil from her hand.

"See you tomorrow evening around nine?"

"Sure," he said. "I'll even supply the champagne. Now go home."

"Thanks, Kel."

His warm smile returned the light to her eyes.

— — —

A stiff breeze ushered John through Rampart General's main entrance. As the automatic doors closed behind him, warm air rushed in to chase away the chill. Working his way through the lobby heading for the elevators, a difference in atmosphere from the previous night offered him a pleasant change. Morning sunlight slanted through windows spotlighting strategically placed planters. Buffed and polished to a high gloss finish the gray tiled floor resembled an iced over pond. Visitors with young children speckled the reception area. Staffers greeted one another wearing smiles.

John appreciated the lighter tone until he observed a young man taping a Happy New Year banner to the wall behind the front desk. The stark reminder, New Year's Eve celebrations were happening tomorrow sent his mood plummeting. A new year brought with it personal reflection, resolutions, and hopeful expectations toward a brighter future. He didn't dare explore the thought further.

A doctor, wearing a lab coat and carrying a few medical charts, courteously kept the elevator doors from closing as he drew near. A couple of nurses paused in their conversation as he entered. A tired-looking woman, with a child in tow, stepped to one side making room.

The doctor waited with a hand hovering near the elevator panel. "Floor?" he inquired.

"Two," John answered.

The doors came together and the elevator began to ascend.

"Hey mister," the child asked curiously, "how come you gotta ride in that?"

"Lenny!" his mother exclaimed, her face matching the deep red of her shirt.

"I didn't do nuthin', Mom," the boy whined.

"Shh, not another word," she ordered.

As a paraplegic in a wheelchair, he often drew looks of pity, long stares, or averted eyes. In the years since his accident, he had been privy to all kinds of reactions and grown less sensitive to them. Because he used wheels instead of legs to get around somehow this translated into his being less of a person. Occasionally, someone would inquire about the accident that cost him the use of his legs. He didn't mind such questions. Given a choice, he would prefer them. Once the reason for his handicap came to light the individual was less likely to remain uncomfortable around him.

"Honestly Michelle," one nurse addressed the other, her voice low, "you need to listen to the radio more often, it made the news." The elevator slowed. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It's terrible. I mean, shot while at the arcade. I ran into Ellyn, who knows someone at the station. She told me he was off duty. Two kids were with him. One of them supposedly his sister."

John stiffened. A soft bell chimed signaling they arrived at the first floor. Conversation stalled. The elevator doors sprang open. Mother and son exited. No one entered.

"Hold on, Alexia," her companion said excitedly trying to maintain a whisper as the doors closed again, "I heard about it, but not about the sister. I didn't think Johnny had any family. At least he never talked about any."

John was appalled that his son was discussed as easily as the weather, and in such a public forum. Apparently, he wasn't alone. The doctor gave John a quick glance before saying, "Ladies, idle chitchat about a patient in this hospital is highly unprofessional. Please desist."

Mumbling apologies, they lapsed into silence, their faces warming.

Ding. The doors slid open and John exited. "Wow," he muttered wheeling his way toward the surgical desk. The hospital rumor-mill appeared to be in full working order.

Arriving at the nurse's station a compassion filled greeting from a nurse he didn't recognize, helped dispel the annoyance that gripped him. She looked to be around his son's age. Her natural appearance warred with the current trend of false eyelashes and heavily made-up faces.

"Sir, are you here to see someone?" she asked gently.

He placed his hands in his lap. "I've come to see my son, John Gage."

He glimpsed a flash of surprise before professionalism pushed to the forefront. "Nurse Collins is in with him. She'll be a few more minutes. I'm so sorry this happened to Johnny, Mr. Gage."

He glanced at her nametag. "Do you know my son, Alice?"

"Yes, sir, Johnny is popular around here."

She didn't elaborate further, and it left him wondering if the two ever dated one another. He was under the impression his son dated frequently. He checked himself. What did he know about his son's life beyond the superficial layering? In the next instant, he reminded himself he was here and while he was, he had a chance to find out.

_What makes you think you deserve the chance? _The skin on his arms tingled. Ripples of tiny chills danced along the length of his arms. _You have nothing to offer_. _Fool._ _Impostor._

His hands lying in his lap, serenely, screamed a falsehood. The same hands inflicted pain, repeatedly, in drunken rage, upon a mere boy. His cruel words left their mark on a young soul. That same boy, his son, now grown carried deeply embedded scars. Hadn't John candidly told him as much? He was deluding himself. He didn't belong here! A swooshing filled his ears. Hands moved to curl around each wheel of his chair.

" . . . Gage. You're free to wait here or in the waiting room," Alice's timely words hauled him from the precipice of self-reproach. "If there is anything you need just let us know."

It took a moment before his hands relaxed enough to maneuver the wheels of his chair.

— — —

Showered and dressed sitting near the window in the hotel room, and sipping strong coffee from a Styrofoam cup, Liz contemplated returning to bed. She could use another hour or so of sleep. After the distressing phone call they received from Rampart, the night stretched into eternity. She had switched beds, at some point, to lie next to Lisa, dozing on and off; aware the night—or rather what was left of it—ended for John.

The shocking statement that Lisa somehow figured out the story between father and son had her on edge. Unwilling, or unable to talk about what this meant for all of them, John shut down. He left for the hospital soon after.

The heartbreakingly ugly truth wasn't something they intended to keep from Lisa forever. She knew parts of it already. No, the aim was to fill in the gaps gradually as she grew older, to wait until she was more mature and better able to understand why this happened.

Life could dole out nasty tricks.

Her eyes sought out her sleeping daughter. Lisa, wrapped up in the blankets with a pillow over her head, resembled a caterpillar in a cocoon. She smiled at the sight, and then sobered, thinking the analogy fit this situation. The events of the past hours would alter Lisa's perception of her world. She would emerge from this experience, changed.

Liz would need to watch her closely in the coming months for signs of stress. Something twisted inside her and her eyes glittered with unshed tears. The last several months hadn't been easy for any of them. She harbored a hope this trip would narrow the gap, however small, between father and son; to aid the healing process of both wounded souls. Why did this tragedy happen now? Was it unlucky happenstance or did a more powerful purpose exist. Would this trip forever alter a father-daughter relationship?

She parted the curtains slightly to look out the window. Bright light streamed in to overpower the gloom. Through the glass, the image she took in fed her dampened spirit. No trace of yesterday's storm remained. Blazing sunshine amid a pale blue and cloudless sky, presented the promise of a beautiful day. She let the curtain fall back into place. The room plunged into murky shadow. As her eyes adjusted to the change in light, she swallowed the last of her coffee. Moving, Liz perched on the edge of the unoccupied bed. Quietly, she slid the nightstand drawer open. She smiled when her hand made contact with what she sought. Didn't every American hotel and motel room supply them? She withdrew the Good Book and made herself comfortable on the bed. She flipped to a section and passage she could recite by heart, but felt compelled to read. Ecclesiastes 3:1-8.

_For every thing, there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven . . ._

— — —

As John moved toward his son's room a figure wearing a hospital security uniform, shadowed Clayton's door. His presence filled the hallway.

_"I'm handcuffed to the bed, damn it. It's hardly likely I can walk out of here under my own steam anyway."_

Willpower, borne from experience, had John taming the flame of hot anger that ignited at the sound of Clayton's voice. _Go finish what you started last evening. You want this. You know you do. What can they do? Go! _Taking a deep measured breath, he mentally knocked the devil from his shoulder and mastered the impulse. Acknowledging the guard, who eyed him intently, he directed his chair into John's room.

A nurse was washing her hands as he entered. Nurse Edna Collins introduced herself disclosing that she was one of John's caregivers for the shift. She told him what she had done and answered his questions in a direct manner. Of importance, the news his son's condition remained unchanged had John looking at it in a positive light.

"Dr. Halifax will be in later," she said. She told him she would be nearby and quietly left the room.

One additional IV bag, and the bed elevated to a 35-degree angle were the only notable differences. As he drew closer to the bed, the odors of disinfectant and rubbing alcohol tackled his nose. Was it his imagination or did the ventilator clicks sound louder and more forceful this morning. Gazing upon the face of his son, the image of Grace loomed sharply into focus. He winced. Even after all this time, when he looked at John, he saw Grace. _I didn't do right by him, Grace, but despite it, he grew into a fine young man. _Her image dissolved. He leaned forward gently grasping the unresponsive hand as he did the previous night.

"John, your sister Lisa, and countless others are waiting for you to wake up. It's time now. You have a job to do. Open you're eyes."

Slight movement from the hand he held, had him calling excitedly, "Boy? Did you hear me?"

When nothing further happened, acute disappointment surged through him. He let go of John's hand. Reaching into his shirt pocket, he slid out a photograph. Its once crisp image faded by time and smudged by over-handling thrust him headlong into the past.

_"Is he asleep?"_

_"Finally. I read three stories tonight. That boy is insatiable."_

_"He loves having you read. Enjoy it while you can, John. Before long, he'll think he's too old for story-telling."_

_"He's five. I think we have time yet," he said chuckling. "I have a feeling John will never outgrow a good story."_

_She nodded and turned away, her eyes bright with the glint of tears._

_He reached out to her, "What is it Grace?"_

_She melted against him, crying._

_Gently lifting her face to his, his lips found hers. She pulled away._

_"God, Grace, what—"_

_"I can't help moments like this. Our son is growing up. I will never bring another life into this world for you. You deserve that. Young John deserves a sibling. I've deprived you both."_

_"Grace, having another child is dangerous for you. We have a son to spoil outrageously. I'm content. Both of you are my life. Always remember it."_

_Despite her tears flowing freely, she smiled. "I love you, John Gage," she said, "You always know what to say to me."_

_"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine . . .," He sang to her, lifting her off her feet._

In the background, the steady noise of the heart monitor breached the rim of his conscious mind. He swept a hand over his face.

— — —

Roy stood in the doorway of Johnny's Room unwilling to enter. Johnny's father sat with his head down staring at something he held in his hands. By its size and shape, Roy could tell it was a small picture. An old one. Not wishing to disturb him, he turned to leave.

A shadow of movement alerted John to the other's presence. Clearing his throat he said, "No, stay, please."

Before the photo disappeared into his shirt pocket, Roy got a glimpse of a dark haired woman and a child of around five or six. Johnny's mother?

"Thank you, Roy."

"Sir?"

"For this morning's notification from Rampart. The head nurse let me know you made sure I was informed."

— — —

Joanne entered the station to find the squad gone, and Emily waiting. She had forgotten to remind Roy she would be in today. It was always a hit and miss situation when anyone came to the station. Had it not been for the fact she already lined up Bridgett weeks ago in preparation to help Emily with the task of packing up of Christmas decorations, she would have canceled. No one, she was sure, would have faulted her for it. After the men greeted her, they went about their business. No one brought up Johnny.

Forty minutes later, they were nearly finished. Even though tomorrow was New Year's Eve, she couldn't pretend to be remotely festive. Neither, did it seem, could anyone else.

Just as Marco and Chet began to carry the Christmas tree outside, the klaxon sounded. With apologies, they left the tree lying on the floor and headed for the engine, which rolled out less then a minute later.

The silence of the station resonated loudly.

After sweeping up a trail of pine needles left when bringing the tree curbside, they sat in the day room taking a breather. The only thing left to do was carry the newly packed boxes to Emily's car. Flipping through the pages of the scrapbook, Jo remembered the small mountain of pictures she and Emily sorted. The intent was to find pictures that highlighted specific moods, for each page of the scrapbook. Her eyes fell upon a snapshot she counted as one of her favorites. Her throat constricted and she fought the sudden urge to cry as her fingers lightly brushed across its smooth surface. The picture, taken by a visiting journalist, showed the men of A-shift their faces streaked with black soot, looking toward Johnny who sat upon a triage blanket. He held an oxygen mask to his face. A smoldering building framed the whole group with Roy sitting on his knees to one side of Johnny, and Captain Stanley, squatting, with a hand resting on Johnny's shoulder, to the other. The camera caught everyone laughing. Whether in relief that their member would be okay, or because of something humorous being stated—Joanne like to think probably both—the photo forever captured the deep respect and brotherhood of a close team.

Without looking up Joanne said, "Johnny has to be all right."

Observing her friend near tears, Emily gave her leg a nudge. "You better believe he will be. What's this about?"

"Nothing, I'm just tired." Joanne closed the book.

"Really? I'm not getting that kind of vibe from you, it's more like self-blame."

"I'm that obvious?" Joanne asked.

"No, but as a captains wife, I've learned to pick up on that particular emotion. I know it when I see it."

Joanne leaned forward to pet Henry who sat at her feet. "If I were more on top of things yesterday we wouldn't have arrived late to the arcade." Needing to shed the guilt she felt, Joanne launched into an explanation.

"You couldn't have known Rodger was waiting!"

"You're right, but I can't help from wondering, and I'm positive Roy is too, had we arrived on time—"

"Stop right there, Joanne," Emily broke in. "I'm bothered that you believe this. I won't let you shoulder this burden, no way!"

Joanne closed her eyes to shut out Emily's disapproval. "I feel I let both Roy and Johnny down."

In order to help her friend, Emily knew she would have to approach this from a different perspective. "Okay, let's just say for the moment you were on time, then what? All of you would have been in the arcade . . ." She purposely let the sentence drop.

Emily's meaning came through loud and clear. If not Johnny or Max, someone else may have been the victim of Rodger's irrational behavior. The thought didn't bear pondering. "I hear you," she said blotting her eyes with a tissue.

"Good, because I'm done lecturing," she said. "Let's load these boxes in my car and swing by the hospital."

"Roy told me Dr. Brackett has a visiting restriction in place, immediate family for now."

"I doubt Dr. Brackett would keep you from seeing, Johnny."

"I know, but I wouldn't feel right. Johnny's father will be at the hospital."

Bending down and hefting a box, Emily said, "So, what's the problem?"

Having Johnny's family in town changed things for Joanne, at least in the short term. She considered Johnny family and had so for years, but she didn't feel she had the right to stand in as his family since his actual family was here. Picking up another box, and following Emily through the empty apparatus bay toward her car, she said, "I'd be intruding."

Registering surprise, Emily said, "I'm sure Johnny's family would welcome your company. They are probably feeling overwhelmed and looking for a friendly face."

"Maybe, but I'm just not comfortable going." Joanne said, moving ahead.

Her friend walked silently behind. Emily could have argued with her, would have even if she thought she had the slightest chance of changing Joanne's mind. But when Joanne made up her mind, that was it.

— — —

A light tapping at his door had Kel glancing up from the chart he was writing in. The phone to his ear he held up one finger and waved Roy in. "I concur that would be my recommendation. All right, Jo Thanks."

"Good morning, Roy," the doctor greeted hanging up. Clicking his pen, Kel placed it into a mug half-filled with others just like it, and stood.

Funny, Roy hadn't noticed the mug last night when he was in here. "Morning, Doctor Brackett." The two shook hands.

Kel immediately noted the deep fatigue lines visible around Roy's eyes and mouth. He imagined Roy didn't get much shut-eye last evening, either. He invited the other to sit. Without hesitation he launched into what Roy no doubt came seeking.

"Outside of an elevated potassium level, high borderline, and his prolonged unresponsiveness, his condition is stable." Rounding the desk, he clapped him on the shoulder. "Everything is being done that can be."

"I understand."

"About what happened yesterday, Roy. If you want to talk, I've got time."

"You know me, Dr. Brackett. I'll be fine."

The assurance fell flat and Brackett didn't bother disputing the claim. He knew the man well enough to know, unless checked, Roy would analyze every move and action taken to the point of obsession.

Quirking an eyebrow, Kel pressed, "I can safely bet you're wondering if you should have handled things differently."

"Yeah, the thought has crossed my mind."

"The answer is no."

"Maybe, Dr. Brackett but I'm not convinced I didn't—"

No, maybes or buts, Roy," he said firmly. "I don't have to tell you Johnny would agree with me."

Roy's depression lifted a little. "Thanks, Dr. Brackett. Iit helps to hear it."

— — —

Tangibly oppressive. This is what being around a hospital meant to Max. It dredged up way to many memories, none pleasant. _Why didn't I call for a taxi?_ The sooner he was gone from here the better off he would be. _Stop thinking!_

He shifted uncomfortably in the wheel chair he sat in, dog-tired. Last night every two hours, a nurse entered the room. She informed him she would do so for the remainder of the night. She asked a battery of questions, took vitals statistics, and offered up sympathy in that order. Upon leaving the room she advised he try and sleep. Sleep. Really? Through his partially opened door, noises filtered in. All night. Summoned by the call buzzer at the nurse's station he heard the light footfalls of the nursing staff enter and exit patient's rooms. Frequently he heard ambulance sirens and patients coughing. The clang and rattle of the vitals cart being wheeled down the hallway in desperate need of a shot of WD-40, had him wishing for his own bed.

It wasn't just being at the hospital nor having a throbbing head that caused his sleeplessness. The events of yesterday in systematic detail, starting with Margery's frantic phone call, and ending with the sight of Gage covered in blood, hounded him in a relentless display of imagery. Guilt found its destructive way into his thoughts to join forces with a strong sense of betrayal.

Betrayal by family.

The attempt to wrestle the gun from Rodger started the chain of events that ended so badly. When he asked after Gage's condition, the nurse mentioned he should speak with Johnny's doctors. He asked her if she would relay the message. At six-thirty A. M., Dr. Brackett came in to see him.

_"Nurse Waterford relayed your message. What can I do for you, Mr. Barrett?"_

_"I'm sure you know the story. I'm Rodger Clayton's brother-in-law."_

_"Yes, I'm familiar with who you are."_

_"It's been a long night doctor so I would appreciate a straight answer. John Gage. Will he make it?"_

_"He is recovering from major surgery and comatose, beyond this, I am not at liberty to discuss personal information."_

_"Wouldn't want to know it. Thank you for being candid. One other thing. I'd like to be discharged as soon as possible."_

_"As long someone else does the driving today, you can be home within a couple of hours."_

_"I'd appreciate it, Dr. Brackett. No offensive, but hospitals aren't my thing."_

_"None taken. I hear this statement quite often."_

— — —

"Take it easy, friend," the orderly told Max, wheeling him up to Margery's car.

"You too," Max replied, sliding in, wondering what type of mood his sister was in. He needn't have worried. She was full of sisterly concern.

"Are you sure they released you? You look like you should still be in bed."

"Thanks." His fingers probed the tender spot on his head. "Sleeping isn't a priority in the hospital. Besides, you shouldn't be talking. How much sleep did you get?"

"Not much," she admitted pulling away from the curb. "Did you get a chance to find out how Johnny is doing?"

"Kelly Brackett came to see me early this morning. Gage is still unconscious. Margery, there is something else," Max said. "Because Rodger violated his parole, he's being moved to the prison infirmary as soon as the hospital clears him, which should be sometime this morning."

"I know." She slowed as she came to a red light. "Rodger's parole officer called me. He asked if I were going to visit before he was transferred, I said no, and don't you bother asking me."

"Don't worry I wasn't going to." His hand strayed to his neck. "How's Ryan, doing?"

Margery glowered at him. "How do you think?" The light turned green. "His father tried to kidnap him. The consequence of which injured both you and Johnny. He is angry and confused like the rest of us. He asked if we could move! It's not fair he has to live this nightmare! We did this to him, Rodger and me."

Max didn't know what to say that would make her feel better. Silence fell between them lasting until they reached his housing complex. Once inside his apartment, Margery fussed over him, guiding him to the couch, retrieving a pillow and blanket, and making him comfortable before heading into the kitchen for a glass of water.

Returning and handing him the glass, she asked, "Do you want something stronger? Are you sure you're okay?"

"Margery, relax. I'll be fine," he assured her. "A few hours of sleep and I'll be as good as new."

He settled into the coach.

"I shouldn't have involved you," she blurted suddenly. "Don't hate me, Max."

This woke him from his lethargy. "What are you going on about Margery?"

Margery sank down next to him her face ravaged by guilt. "Involving you," she said miserably, "was a mistake." She wrung her hands. "When Rodger came home, I could tell he didn't like the change in me. He felt threatened by us because of our newly patched relationship. I know the violence he is capable of, yet I kept a gun in the house. How stupid! I needed to prove to myself I could stand up to Rodger. I wanted to show you, Ryan, and the other's I wasn't pathetic. "Right," she said. "As soon as Rodger came home I fell into the old habit of avoidance. I saw his behavior changing and let it happen."

"Marge, listen to me," he said taking her hands. "I've no regrets that you called me for help. You are my family. This isn't your scene. This is all Rodger. I will concede having a gun in the house probably wasn't the smartest decision you could have ever made, but an understandable one."

Her head bobbed. Tears plopped onto the sofa where they were quickly absorbed. He could face down most anything, but a woman's tears. He never knew how to respond. Awkwardly he patted her leg.

Margery endured years of verbal, emotional, and physical abuse. He effectively ignored it. Linda and Kevin stepped in only when the abuse escalated to include Ryan. They advised Margery on what she should do. They figured if she wanted help she would get it. None of them grasped she wasn't equipped emotionally to handle such action. Had it not been for John Gage becoming involved_—_making them all see . . .Margery came through, hadn't she? She sent help to the arcade.

He sat up straighter. "I don' hold you responsible for what Rodger has done. I'm so sorry it has turned out this way for you and Ryan. I have many regrets Margery, concerning you and Ryan. I can only apologize, hoping you can eventually forgive my selfishness."

Margery's answer was to embrace him in a fierce hug. "We're family. We can't loose sight of this ever again."

— — —

"This is a hospital Mr. Jackson. My job is seeing to the safety and wellbeing of every patient who is under my care. An overzealous reporter taking unwanted pictures is out of the question. I won't hesitate to have security escort you from the building should you not choose to leave voluntarily."

"I have the right as a journalist, nurse," he said holding up his press card, "to follow up on this story. Besides, Gage isn't a stranger to the newspapers."

"Whether, or not, John Gage is a headline maker makes little difference in here. The patient in question isn't receiving visitors outside of immediate family."

"Can you at least tell me—?"

"If you have questions sir, take them up with Mr. Gage's doctors."

"C'mon, give me a break," he scoffed. "His doctors will give me the same spiel. How about his family any chances they're around?"

"I'm Sorry. I have nothing more to say."

"I'm just tryin' to do my job," the beleaguered man complained.

"And I'm doing mine, Mr. Jackson."

Alice watched him walk toward the exit stairwell. She breathed a sigh when he disappeared through the door.

"You handled him like a pro."

Alice whirled around. "Mr. Gage, I'm sorry you overheard that. It isn't the first time today a reporter has tried to gain access to your son's room."

"I understand they have a job to perform but I'm grateful to you for keeping them at arms length."

Alice nodded her face turning thoughtful. "You've been here since early this morning. Why don't you head toward the cafeteria and get something to eat."

He shook his head, warmed by her thoughtfulness. "I grabbed something earlier. I came to let you know I'll be leaving, but will be back within the hour."

— — —

"Mrs. DeSoto has invited you to spend the night with Jennifer tonight if you like," Liz told her daughter, as she hung up the phone. _The DeSoto's are good people._

Having eaten an early lunch at a nearby diner, they returned to the hotel to await John's arrival. "I think it's a good idea. Jennifer could use a friend, too."

Lisa, sitting on the bed showed little interest as she mulled it over. "If it's what you want me to do."

"No honey, it's what you want to do," Liz returned.

"Mommy, Johnny kept me and Ryan safe."

Lisa's abrupt change in conversation caught her by surprise. She answered cautiously, "Yes, he did."

Lisa hugged a pillow tight to her middle. "Ryan's Daddy was yelling at Johnny. He said Johnny did something that made him mad. He said mean things and kept pointing a gun at us. Johnny tried to hide my eyes."

"Go, on, Lisa," Liz urged when she stopped.

"W-when Mr. Barrett tried to take the gun away from Ryan's daddy, Johnny told us both to run but he didn't come with us."

"Your brother wanted to be sure Mr. Barrett stayed safe."

"I-it was scary; I didn't want him to stay."

Without comment, she sat next to her daughter on the bed.

Tentatively, Lisa continued, "He didn't keep himself safe, Mommy."

Liz struck silent by her daughter's observation struggled to form words that would make sense. To an eight year old who understood things to be black or white, right or wrong with no middle gray area, it would present this way. Sudden insight had her asking, "Lisa, are you angry with your brother?"

Tearfully, Lisa nodded. "He wouldn't leave with me."

"Johnny had to make a split-second decision. He saw Mr. Barrett needed help."

"But why did Ryan's daddy want to hurt us?"

_Careful Liz._

"Some people are so very sad inside that they want other's to feel that way too."

"Like Daddy, before I was born?"

Tension cramped Liz's stomach certain she knew where her daughter was leading her. _John you're right. She knows. _A conversation she thought she had years to prepare for was suddenly thrust upon her whether she wanted it or not, which she certainly did not. And not without John's supportive presence. The easiest thing to do would be to squash the conversation. Even as she thought it, she knew she wouldn't. Lisa was beginning to open up. She didn't want her daughter to feel like she couldn't discuss this with her. "Why do you say that?" hoping Lisa would lead her somewhere else.

"Oh, Mommy," Lisa cried. "I'm sorry. I asked Johnny about stuff. It made him sad!"

She blanched. "W-what kinds of things, honey?"

"I don't think Daddy wanted to visit," she answered. "He wasn't very nice to Johnny when we got here. Then, over at the DeSoto's house, Chris, said Ryan's daddy got ugly when he drank. He said Ryan was afraid of him. I got to thinking. Daddy used to drink, too. Maybe Daddy wasn't nice to Johnny and that made him want to live with his Aunt Rose, so I asked him."

_"She won't hear it from me." _The words reverberated through her head. Oh, God, this put Johnny in a terrible position.

The room suddenly felt stifling.

"What did your brother tell you?"

Lisa's bowed her head her hands continuing to roam in agitation. "He said what happened between them doesn't have anything to do with me. Daddy is different now, and I need to believe he loves me very much."

Liz could breathe again. "Honey, Johnny is right. Your father does love you very much. What happened took place a long time ago."

"Daddy hurt Johnny," she persisted. "I know he did, even though Johnny didn't say it. Did Daddy send him away because he didn't love him anymore?"

Liz stilled. "No, Lisa," she said. "It's complicated, but you must believe me; your father loves Johnny." _The remorse is always there__._ "What occurred between your father and brother is something that we need to let the two of them work out. Just remember the problem between the two of them doesn't alter how much each of them loves you."

Lisa sniffled. "What if Daddy turns sad like he did before. Will he turn mean like Ryan's daddy?"

Liz put her arms around her daughter. "Lisa, I want you to know that no matter what, nothing on this earth can drive away the love your father has for you. Nothing," she repeated fiercely.


	19. Chapter 19

I do not own the rights to Emergency or any of its characters. I promise to return them unharmed when my imagination is finished with 'em.

Forgiveness Factor

Written by: Kianda

Chapter Nineteen

— — —

The chain of past deeds holds us prisoner until the key of forgiveness turns the lock.

* * *

Alice drew the curtain around the bed offering privacy. Wringing out a warm wet cloth, she passed it carefully over Johnny's exposed skin removing leftover traces of surgical disinfectant. She worked around the chest tubes and loosely bandaged surgical dressings. Dark bruising mottled his chest. She gently swabbed the areas she could touch. "I'm sorry this happened to you, Johnny. All of us on the surgical floor are waiting on you to wake up." She dipped the cloth into the basin and wrung it out the antibacterial scent rising as she disturbed the water. "Your father sat with you last night and again this morning. He left a little while ago." Alice paused to see if her words were having any effect before resuming her one-sided conversation. "You are popular. The guys from your station have called, and I probably shouldn't tell you this, nurses have checked in too." She continued to give the sponge bath all the while speaking softly to him. She rinsed and patted him dry manipulating the dry cloth over his face, carefully avoiding the vent tube. Rhythmic whooshing and beeps joined her speech. "You'll need a shave soon." Running a comb through his thick hair she told him, "I heard you scared poor Nurse McCall, and rattled Dr. Brackett last night. None of that today," she ordered. She ran a visual check over his IV lines and chest tubes preparing to remove her bathing materials. "There, all finished."

The curtain swished aside. "It is good that you talk to your unconscious patients. I believe on some subconscious level they can hear you."

Nearly upending the basin in her surprise, her hands rose to an overly warm face. "Dr. Halifax, I didn't know you were standing there."

"Just arrived," he said, lifting the hospital chart off its hook.

— — —

"You have it wrong, detective. The gun went off after Gage knocked it from my hand, not before."

Detective Nathan Stiles did not blink. "We are looking at several charges here, one of which, if convicted, carries a steep sentence. The firearm you carried into the arcade critically injured an off duty fireman, not to mention endangering the lives of others. The state of California takes felonious assault seriously. Combined with the lesser charge your prior convictio don't need to spell it out for you."

A flicker of pain registered on Clayton's face as he moved in agitation.

Rodger's lawyer gave Nathan a warning shake of his head. "Detective, he's given his statement. Let's move on."

Stiles couldn't help equate the hard chiseled features of Clayton's lawyer to an old grizzled cowpoke, saddle-sore and prickly. He ignored the attorney's warning. Instead, he moved closer to the bed. "We've been unable to confirm or deny your client's statement."

Showing surprise, Clayton said, "Gage knows what happened, ask him."

"I'd love to ask him, Clayton. Only he's unconscious."

"Let's wrap this up, Detective," the attorney demanded.

"There is another matter I'd like to discuss with your client."

"About?"

"M-80 firecrackers," he explained, "and the Fourth of July of this year."

Rodgers smug expression fled. "Don't know what you're talkin' about, Detective."

"This may jog your memory," said Stiles. "Two lit M-80's were thrown at a pair of LA paramedics while in the performance of their duty, lured to an empty house by parties unknown. I find it compelling that one of those men, John Gage, is the same man you held at gun point yesterday."

Rodger eyes darted to his court appointed attorney. "I was behind bars."

"I didn't say you personally threw them, Clayton. I'm aware you have an axe to grind with Gage. Maybe you found a way to get some pay back."

Staring intently at his client, the attorney warned, "Careful, Detective, this is speculation empty of substance. Where's your proof to back up this allegation?"

Stiles towered over Clayton's bed. "At the present time, I have none, the investigation is still open."

"Detective, if there's nothing else, this interview is over."

Nathan addressed Clayton's lawyer, but watched Rodger who stared stonily ahead. _Oh, you're a cool one._ "I'm assuming you've explained to your client the legalities of his situation?"

"Detective, if you are referring to my client's probation, then yes."

"Good. As soon as his release paperwork is finalized, Sheriff Officers will escort him to MCJ's infirmary."

— — —

Ben plucked two paper towels from the dispenser, drying his hands. "Let's keep an eye on his elevated temperature. I will be in surgery this afternoon. Page Dr. Brackett, or the attending should things change. Are any of Mr. Gage's family in the waiting room?"

"No doctor. Mr. Gage left the hospital a little awhile ago."

"I saw a newspaper reporter roaming the halls earlier. Under no circumstances is he to have access to this patient."

"They are numerous today, doctor. I've already exchanged words with a K-TV reporter. "

_I bet you have._ "Carry on, Nurse Moore," Ben said, smiling to himself.

— — —

Roy backed the squad into the bay. The rumble of the engine ceased.

"Quick run," Marco commented on his way into the kitchen from the outer bay.

"The patient refused transport," said Barry following Marco's footsteps.

Roy passed Chet speaking on the phone as he entered the kitchen. The absence of Christmas decorations struck him at once. He'd completely forgotten Jo would be here today.

"No problem. I'll keep you posted, Fred." Chet hung up. "Man, Gage must know half of Carson. The phone hasn't stopped ringing all morning. They can't all be friends. How can one person know that many people, and keep it all straight."

"If you have to ask, Kelly," said Mike, exchanging a knowing glance with Roy, "then you must not have any. Friends that is."

"Don't worry, Chet, "Marco said, "Henry likes you."

Chet took the good-natured humor as intended. Forefinger and thumb worked his mustache. "I'm legit man; Gage has been holding out on us. Most of the calls are from the female persuasion. I'd like to know his secret—"

The phone rang again. Chet's eyes rolled _see what I mean._

Roy standing closest to the phone picked it up. "Fire Station 51. DeSoto speaking oh, hi, Joann sorry I missed you t no, nothing ye haven't seen him this afternoon. Sure you know I will. yeah, me too, bye."

A pall fell over the room.

Roy joined Hank and Mike already seated at the table. Chet, moved to the fridge ransacking it for a snack. Barry entered the day room with a freshly poured cup of coffee. Henry, who lay sprawled over the entire length of the couch didn't move at his approach.

"Care to make room, Henry?"

Henry gave Barry a sad droopy-eyed look and a half-hearted thump of his tail but didn't budge. Putting his cup down on the coffee table, Barry physically pushed Henry aside. This elicited chuckles from those watching, the somber mood lightened. Barry sat down and reached for the paper lying discarded on the coffee table.

"Henry's not big on moving much,"Roy called out.

"Henry isn't big on doing anything; accept eating and sleeping," Chet clarified.

"Something you and the mutt have in common, "Hank said, watching Chet slap a piece of cheese between two slices of bread.

"It's important to keep the stomach happy, Cap," Chet returned seriously.

Scratching the underside of one of Henry's ears, Barry crooned, "Henry makes the perfect pet. Isn't that right Henry?"

Henry rewarded him by inching his way forward and resting his head on Barry's thigh.

"Earlier, Henry was lying on top of Gage's bunk," Mike spoke to no one in particular. "Weird, but I think he knows Gage is in the hospital."

— — —

Without expression, Nathan watched the doors of the ambulance close on Rodger Clayton. The newspaper reporter standing next to him closed his notebook extending his hand.

"Thank you, Detective Stiles."

Nathan shook the man's hand. "Your 'story' just left without saying a word."

"Yeah, well, it happens. Maybe somebody from the LA office will have better luck."

As Nathan walked toward his car, he pondered why Clayton chose ignore the reporter's questions. When the the reporter showed up, Nathan had groaned, figuring Clayton would try to get his side of the story out to the public. However, when asked for an interview, Clayton refused, the cockiness previously witnessed from the suspect now gone. A puzzle for sure but one Nathan wouldn't loose sleep over.

— — —

Glumly, Ryan stared out the window of his bedroom. His eyes followed the neighbor's cat slinking across the backyard. The feline flattened her body to the ground near a clump of bushes that divided their yard from their neighbors. Suddenly, she pounced disappearing from view. He waited a moment and when the cat didn't reemerge, he turned away from the window. He flopped onto his bed, the springs protesting. Staring up at the ceiling, he wondered why he heard no news about Johnny. The police came to the house this morning asking him more questions about what happened. Angrily he punched his pillow. Winter break would be over in another week. He knew the taunting would start up again. Everyone in Carson probably knew what happened by now and there wasn't anything he could do about it. Shame swept through him at the thought. His stomach hurt and his head ached. If it hadn't been for him, Johnny wouldn't be in the hospital. He ignored the light tap at his bedroom door. He didn't want to talk with anyone. He wanted to be invisible.

After another round of light tapping, the door opened and his aunt stepped into the room. "Ryan, you didn't eat breakfast. I want you to have lunch."

"Not, hungry," he mumbled.

"Ryan—"

"Not hungry," he repeated with more emphasis. "Please Aunt Linda; I just wanna be left alone."

"Ryan, talk to me. Why did you refuse to speak with your Uncle Max? Chris DeSoto? They're concerned about you."

"I don't wanna talk with anyone, right now," he said turning away from her.

He heard his aunt sigh. She moved toward the door. "Alright Ryan, if you change your mind lunch will be in the fridge."

"Aunt Linda?"

"Yes?"

"Could you call the hospital for me?"

— — —

_He floated in a soundless void. Somehow, Johnny knew he wasn't supposed to be in this unnatural state of nothingness. He needed to open his eyes. He tried and failed._

— — —

As soon as he passed the room's threshold, John felt the cloying sense of tension. For the second time in as many days, his daughter didn't greet him but she immediately asked a question loaded with accusation, something he'd never heard from her before.

"How come Johnny moved here? Was it because you drank too much?"

Time shifted. John pictured himself kneeling on the ground in front of Grace's gravestone, hands gripping the grass-covered earth. Rain fell steadily creating tiny tracks of runoff down the face of the headstone. It appeared as if the tombstone wept. _"I'll ruin him if he stays. I must send him away. Grace, forgive me."_

"Daddy?"

He blinked as if coming awake. "Lisa, I can give you plenty of reasons, drinking being one of them, but understand they don't excuse my behavior."

Her guarded expression deepened.

His gut twisted. In fairness, he couldn't expect her at eight years of age to understand something he still wrestled with at his.

"You hurt him."

"Yes, and I'm deeply sorry for that."

"Will you get angry and hurt me someday?"

Liz's sharply indrawn breath caused Lisa to look down at the floor.

He faltered. _I've lost her trust. She's afraid. _Inwardly, something in John shattered. The world of foggy oblivion beckoned to him like an old friend. The image of a glass filled with amber liquid, overshadowed him. He imagined he caught its full-bodied aroma, savoring its sharp bite as it passed over his tongue—sliding silkily down his throat to end in a burst of sense numbing warmth.

There were no easy fixes here.

He let out a long nervous breath, banishing the image. He despised his weakness. Nevertheless, it reminded him that falling off the wagon wasn't an option; just as revisiting his past repeatedly wouldn't change the outcome.

"Lisa," Liz stated to say, "there are things you need to under—"

"Let it go, Liz." He faced his daughter squarely. "All right Lisa," he said, fingertips swiping away perspiration that gathered over his brow.

Lisa waited expectantly, her eyes stripping him bare.

How much should he tell her? He tread carefully. "You already know parts of my past Lisa; my life prior to this one. Your brother lost his mother at a young age. I loved his mother very much." He eyes flicked to Liz momentarily, before taking on a far away gaze. "When Grace died, I thought my life ended. I pushed everyone who loved me, away. Your brother included." One hand roamed aimlessly along the armrest of his chair. "I drank heavily. I-I took out my anger on John. I did shameful things. Said things I wish I could take back. For years, self-pity made me blind, your brother suffering because of it." _Don't hate me._ "There came a point when I realize after Shannon died, I had to confront the truth of what I'd become in all it's ugliness." He shut his eyes in an effort to block the bitter pain of remembrance. "I contacted your brother's aunt. Sent John away." Eyes reopened. Eyes filled with shame. "As soon as he'd gone I wanted to bring him home, but I first had to fix myself. It took a long while to give up my drinking, Lisa." His gaze brushed over Liz, her expression was one of encouragement. "I gained a second chance when I met, fell in love with, and married your mother. You are my daughter. I love you. I can't promise you I won't get angry, but I can promise you, I will never strike you. I want you to believe it."

Lisa's expression softened slightly. "Johnny said something like that too. He said he didn't want me to worry. Will he forgive you, Daddy?"

"Maybe, someday," he answered sadly.

"John, we will work through this," Liz said softly as they left the hotel a little while later.

John kept his doubt to himself.

— — —

Johnny dreamt.

Brother Moon hung low in the sky, a giant white sphere spying on Old Man's creatures far below.

The howl of a wolf, low and mournful spoke to the empty night. Joined by another higher in pitch, and still another, the surrounding hill came alive with the cadence of wolf-song.

Sitting cross-legged within a small domed enclosure, shirtless, he absorbed the words of the wise one. Intelligence burned from ageless eyes, as black as Raven's wing. Vapor rose as water droplets danced across red-hot river stones.

"Earth Mother teaches the way of all life. Listen carefully. Her voice fills you with strength and understanding. Earth Mother carries you, be at peace."

Johnny's hands circled through the smoke of burning sage, fanning it in and around him praying neither for strength, nor for understanding. Instead, he prayed for spiritual healing. He prayed not for himself but for the troubled soul of another.

He heard words not spoken by any lips. _"Rest awhile, but do not linger overlong. There are those who wait for you."_

Brown eyes sprang open. No longer seated within the steamy enclosure, he found himself outside, bathed in moonlight.

The horse appeared over the rise. It stopped its hurried flight to paw the ground; head lowered appearing to give homage to the glowing ball of light. Huffing, shaking its mane, it lifted its head and trotted toward him. He stood frozen as the magnificent animal nuzzled him in open invitation.

He mounted. Horse and rider evaporated into the night.

— — —

Lisa Gage's eyes fill with tears as she halted midway into the room. She looked so lost, poor thing. "It's alright, Lisa," Alice encouraged, "you can go closer."

Timidly, the girl advanced until she stood up against the side rail of the bed. Her hands gripping it solidly. Her round eyes swept over the chest tubes, the IV lines, the heart monitor that she watched for a time moving across the screen, and finally the ventilator. Tears dripped. "Johnny I'm so scared. I wanted to come last night but Mommy said I had to wait. I want you to have this back," she said, reaching up and unclasping her necklace.

"Sweetheart, your brother won't be able to wear that right now, "Alice told her gently.

Small shoulders slumped. Lisa's face crumbled. "B-but he needs to have it. It's special."

Alice thought quickly. "I can pin it to his pillow; this way it will be next to him."

Lisa agreed passing it over. "He won't wake up." She turned to her brother. "I don't wanna be scared any more. You said everything would be okay," she whispered. "It isn't." She burst into tears.

Her mother immediately turned her daughter toward the doorway. "Lisa," she said, "it's going to be all right," It's time to go now."

"I don't want to go!" she wailed. "I want Johnny to wake up!"

"I know this is upsetting to you, we can come—"

"Please, M-Mommy, I'll be good. I'll stop crying," Lisa begged.

Alice intervened. She bent down to the little girl's level. "Lisa, honey, I'll take you to get something to drink. When you're calmer, we will return. Let's give your Mom some time alone with your brother, okay?"

"Y-you promise I can come back?"

Lisa's bright watery eyes tugged at Alice. On the surgical floor, and in particular the ICU, emotions of family members often ran hot and raw. Through experience, she taught herself how to divorce herself from it. However, at times such as now, when confronted by a confused and overwhelmed child, the fear and tears broke past carefully erected barriers. Dampening down emotion, she stretched out her hand in invitation. "I promise."

Lisa grasped it.

— — —

Eyelids flickered. A tiny glimmer of light poked a hole in the darkness. It grew and widened consuming the gloom. Sound followed. From somewhere nearby sobbing—a child's sobbing—pulled Johnny into wakefulness.

He felt odd. An uncomfortable fullness invaded his throat and had him attempting to swallow, but this met with resistance. He couldn't raise his hands. When he attempted to speak no sound emerged. Why wouldn't his body work? Fuzzily he tried to make sense of it. _Open your eyes and find out. _Fear of what he would discover when he opened them suddenly stopped him. _Why, why should I be afraid_? The crying grew more pronounced. A voice murmured comfort. The child's suffering overrode his own fear. His eyelids parted. Undulating—blurry images met his gaze. Threateningly, his stomach answered in kind. He shut his eyes against the dizzying effect.

— — —

A series of alarms sent Alice into action. The short bleeps, followed by a pause had her immediately at her patient's bedside. "Johnny?" Pushing the call button, she reached out and gently grasped his hand. "Johnny, you're in SICU."

A voice filtered through the intercom.

Liz turned to Lisa. In a quiet but firm tone she said, "Honey, Johnny is waking up, but sometimes waking up can be very confusing. I think its best if we go to the waiting room until Nurse Alice comes for us."

The little girl didn't argue. Alice waited until the pair exited the room before speaking.

"Johnny."

The pressing voice forced him to focus. He moved his head slightly toward the sound. The blurriness cleared and solidified into an over-bright image. A vague feeling of pain radiated deep from within his body. The reason he couldn't raise his hands became clear. The knowledge he lay in a hospital bed connected to a ventilator caused momentary confusion and panic. It abated when he registered the pressure of a warm hand in his. He focused solely on the friendly face looking down at him. A face he recognized. Alice.

"It's all right, Johnny. You're in the hospital. You've had surgery. You're going to be fine."

He believed her as his eyes drifted close.

— — —

John tensed seeing his daughter's tear stained face as she made her way toward him. "What's wrong?"

Johnny's waking up, Daddy!"

John turned a questioning hope-filled gaze to Liz. She nodded. He closed his eyes in relief, and grasped her hand.

— — —

Muttering to himself, Hank crossed out another mistake. The afternoon's lull gave him a rare window of opportunity to catch up on delinquent paperwork. He hadn't made a dent. Strangely, thoughts of his father kept him preoccupied. _Concentrate Hank. _Looking at his crossed-out mess, he snatched the paper from the pile scrunching it into a ball. He aimed for the wastebasket. It landed on the floor, were others rested. He made no move to pick them up. Sounds of activity reached him through his partially open door. The men went about the daily routine as usual, but a deep sense of anticipation saturated the atmosphere of the station. His eyes rested a moment on the day's newspaper. John's story made front-page news. Every one of them read it but refrained from discussing John as if to do so courted disaster. The lack of runs while good for the citizens of Carson made for a long tense afternoon. Chet commented during lunch that a mundane cat-up-a-tree call would be welcome. Hank threw the pen on the desk. His chair squeaked as he leaned back, thoughts taking flight . . .

_"Life will turn ones head around until you don't know which end is up, especially at your age. There's no rush. You have a year left of college."_

_"I know what I want to do. I'm sorry you feel my choice isn't good enough."_

_"I never said It wasn't good enough, son. I just think you haven't fully weighed all of your options."_

_"Which options? The ones chosen for me?"_

_"Engineering is a fine field. I'm paying your college costs remember?"_

_"You don't let me forget it. It's always about what's best for you. For once, I wish you would listen."_

_"Damn, but you are a stubborn cuss. So what if I demand more of you."_

_"You may demand it, Dad, but you can't push me. I am not Marcus."_

_"Why do you always have to make things into a personal tug-of-war?"_

_"It's you, Dad, not me, making this personal. When Marcus made his choice you didn't put him through the mill."_

_"I don't want to discuss Marcus."_

_"I know how difficult it has been since Marcus—"_

The jangle of the phone jarred him from his reverie.

"Station 51, Capt'n Stanley speaking."

His feet hit the floor. "Yes, sir. I'll inform Lewis and DeSoto now. I appreciate it Chief. I'll pass it on to the men."

— — —

Storing oxygen tanks on top of the squad Roy saw the office door open.

"DeSoto."

"Yeah, Cap?" he said straightening up.

"Headquarters is letting us keep Lewis as Gage's replacement, for now."

Roy nodded. "Wonder how many strings were pulled to work that out?"

Hank, taken aback by the comment, looked sharply at his medic. _He's tired. Hell we're all tired. _The request to borrow Lewis he thought a good idea. With no time period for Gage's recovery, he wanted to minimize the flow of personnel, while keeping things as normal as possible.

"You too get on well right? What's the problem?"

Seeing his captain's frown, Roy said, "Sorry Cap, just thinking aloud. I didn't mean to come off as if I were complaining."

"Good," Hank said half-serious. "I know he'll work out fine."

"I'll let Barry know," Roy said hopping down from the squad. "I for one am grateful it isn't—"

The klaxon drowned out his next words. _"Station 51, Station 105, Engine 45, landslide across road, vehicle trapped Lawson Creek Rd. Time out 13:08"_

"You got your wish, Kelly," Mike said pulling his coat out of the rig side compartment.

"Not exactly a cat-up-a-tree," Chet grumbled.

Engine and squad rolled.

— — —

A gaping scar marred the steep hillside. The tangy, moldy smell of recently turned soil inundated the area. A loose glove absently slapped against Hanks leg as he listened to the shaken man at his side explain what he witnessed.

"Like, man, a crap loud of dirt fell onto the road. I barely stopped my ride in time. The car ahead of me slammed on the break but couldn't avoid the slide. I sent my old lady to phone for help. I wanted to help, but I figured I'd end up needing it myself. It's a long way down."

"You're sure there is only one vehicle?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I saw a lady driving. I didn't see anybody with her."

Hank nodded while peering over the edge. "Alright sir, thank you."

The witness did not exaggerate. A chunk of the hillside gave way loosened by yesterday's heavy rainstorm. A narrow, and dense swath of earth carrying roots, rocks, and rubble, engulfed the road, knocking out a section of k-rail and sweeping the ill-fated vehicle down the embankment. The embankment wasn't a sheer drop off, as the one above the road, but a steep long slope, ending at Lawson Creek, some sixty feet down. Winter shrubs grew sparse along the hillside, a wildfire having swept through in recent months. The normally placid creek running high due to the heavy rain, punched angrily along the banks. Patches of low-lying areas flooded creating mini islands. The vehicle lay upright at the waters edge,the damage sustained much less than he expected. Something prevented the car from entering the creek. From his vantage point, he couldn't make out what. Muddy debris entombed the passenger side of the car. If anyone were calling for help, it would be lost over the roar of the water. He experienced the all too familiar tightening of stomach muscles as his men prepared to move down the hill. The unusually cold day and threat of flooding added an unwanted burden to both victim and rescuer.

"Ready Cap," Roy said.

"Do not disengage your safety harnesses," he ordered. "The ground is saturated and unsteady. Be extra vigilant down there."

His attention diverted to Engine 45 as she rolled up. Quickly speaking with its captain, the men of 45 began preparing a rope system to stabilize the vehicle. The men of Engine 105 coming in from the opposite side of the slide, visually and physically investigated the surrounding hillside for instability. The police cordoned off the road by placing road closure signs and turning traffic around.

Barry and Roy headed down first. Marco and Chet steps behind them.

"Easy," he warned as Barry slipped. The closer Roy came to the vehicle, the spongier the ground became until his feet sank into waterlogged earth. The remains of a tree snagged the cars undercarriage and prevented it from sliding into the water. Branches smashed through the passenger side windshield, impaling the passenger seat. Surprisingly, the driver side, which he had expected to be a twisted mess, sustained minimal damage. The sole occupant, a young female in her early twenties lay flush against the steering wheel, her seatbelt still attached.

"Ma'am can you hear me?" Removing his glove, Roy gingerly stuck his hand through the jagged driver's side window to check her pulse. She moaned. Adrenaline surged through his veins. "She alive, but cold." he shouted. "Let's make this quick."

With the rigging tied in place, Marco attempted to jimmy the driver's door open with a crowbar. The front driver-side wheel sank deeper into the mud, water seeping into the depression with chunks of bank disappearing. Thick sludge pulled at his boots as he tried to ignore the fact he was steps from a rushing torrent.

"No go," he shouted over the sound of water, forcing his feet free and moving to the rear door. He wedged the crowbar in and with a bit of muscle from Chet, gained access.

Some inner sense urged Roy to pick up the pace. His hands gently explored. He discovered lacerations to her left arm and a dislocated shoulder, and those were what he could determine in a preliminary exam. They would have to get her out and up the hill to determine what other injuries were present. He secured a C-collar around her neck. He signaled to Barry, who held the backboard.

The victim moaned as she came around.

"Ma'am,"Roy said, "I'm a fireman, we're here to help—"

"Oh, God! Get me out. Get me out! "

"Ma'am, that's what we are doing. Try to stay calm."

The front end of the auto jolted but the lines securing the vehicle held firm.

"Let's get her out," he called to the three men, his heart hammering. He tried reaching through the woman's panic. "Ma'am, you could have serious injuries. For your safety and ours keep still."

His steeled words grabbed the panicked woman's attention. She stilled, groaning.

Spurred into action at Roy's shout, Chet and Marco moved in to assist. What happened next happened in slow motion as he helplessly watched the earth under Chet and Marco's feet, crumble. Both lost footing. Chet made a wild grab for Marco as his friend jumped backward to firmer ground. Marco latched onto Chet's rope but it slipped through Marco's gloved hand as his friend fought for balance.

"Chet!"

Chet heard shouts of alarm before landing back first in the frigid water. The shock of it stopped his breath. His gear weighed him down and he immediately sank below the surface, arms flailing madly. His belt pressed painfully at his waist, the rope pulling tight keeping him in place. He swallowed what seemed like a bucketful of muddy water before clamping his mouth closed. Something bumped his side. Below the surface, he fought to swim upward while the powerful current pushed against his body. Every muscle strained as he kicked furiously against it. His chest squeezed tighter and tighter with the need to breathe air. Tiny pinpoints of light burst and faded behind closed lids. He clawed at his rope, resisting the urge to breathe in. _Just like that I'm gonna drown. Damn._ His lips parted. Water rushed in.

His head broke the surface. _"We have you Kelly."_

A pair of hands grabbed for him. Greedily, he sucked in air as his rescuers hauled him from the water. Sputtering and retching, he blindly followed were they led. As the spasms quieted, he found himself upslope, well away from the water's edge.

"Chet," Barry said, helping him into a sitting position. "Anything—"

"The water. Get the woman."

"She's being taken care of. Any pain?"

Captain Stanley came sliding into sight.

"Cap. I'm fine," Chet, protested trying to rise. "I can help."

"Not so fast Kelly. DeSoto has the situation under control. They have the woman out. You and Lopez are soaked through. Let's get you both up the hill, have Lewis, check you over."

Chet noticed Marco standing nearby looking every inch as wet and cold as he.

"He's too thick-headed to be affected by the cold, Cap." Marco said, shivering.

As they trekked up the hill, Chet told the waterlogged man at his side, "Thanks for fishing me out, Marco."

Looking back over his shoulder at the raging creek, and the car's now submerged front end, Marco said, "Don't think staying dry hadn't crossed my mine, amigo."

"Lively, run," Barry said nearly as wet as the other two. "

"Think of it as your initiation," Chet said.

"Oh, and here I thought the Phantom would get me first," Barry chuckled.

— — —

Doctor Morton stepped into the exam room. Spying Roy, he said without ceremony, "DeSoto, Gage is awake." His attention switched to his patient on the exam table. "You young lady are one lucky girl."

It took Roy a moment to find his voice. "Doc—"

Morton glanced his way, "Go. Get yourself cleaned up. And tell your partner he's used up eight of his nine lives."

— — —

Glad to see the back of this run, and the end of the heated conversation Kelly and Lopez engaged in, Mike stepped from the rig, greeted by the phone

ringing. "I'll get it," he said.

Marco grumbled, "Keep your wishing to yourself next time, Chet."

Chet sniffed. "You've gone and lost it, Marco. My comment about wanting to rescue a cat had nothing to do with my unexpected dunk."

Hank heard his unassuming lineman mumble under his breath, something unflattering. His eyes narrowed.

"It's like you're not fazed by what happened. You should be, Chet," Marco chastised, "you easily could've drowned."

"Thank you Captain Obvious. You act like I put a hex on us or something. What's your point?"

Marco's face darkened. "Never mind."

Hank understood Marco's frustration with Kelly. At times, Chet's cocksure attitude got under everyone's skin. Beyond the surface layers, however, lay a complex and caring individual. Marco knew this as well as anyone. Lopez's uncharacteristic display of words proved to Hank, that what happened to John, clearly was the elephant in the room. Hank placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "Go grab a cup of coffee. You earned it. We'll discuss what happened today, but equipment clean up comes first.

Mike came to the kitchen doorway, beaming. "John's turned a corner. He's regained consciousness."

— — —

Roy made his way to the second floor after washing up, lighter in spirit. Johnny wasn't totally out of the woods, but both Brackett and Halifax felt, _this bit of news delivered by Brackett himself,_ were pleased with his postoperative progress thus far.

"Hi Roy, "Alice greeted when she saw him coming.

Roy returned the greeting. "Can I go back?"

"His father just went in," she said apologetically. "Can you wait a few minutes?"

"I can wait so long as this does," he said holding up the HT, giving her a tired grin.

Alice smiled. "Here's hoping."

"Hello, Roy," Liz said as he entered the waiting room. Lisa curled up in the chair next to her, her body relaxed in sleep, looked so peaceful.

Seeing the little girl reminded Roy his own family awaited news. He needed to call Joanne. "How's Lisa holding up?" He asked, sitting down one seat over from hers.

"Better now that Johnny is awake and she's seen him. And you?" Liz prompted.

"Hanging in," he replied. "If you'll excuse me," He said rising, "I think I'll take this opportunity to call the family."

— — —

_Will you tell me to get lost? _John wondered as he wheeled his way into the room. _No less then I deserve. _Johnny lay sleeping, his face pale against the white of the pillow, a hint of facial shadow ringing his jaw line. John Sr. made no attempt to wake him, content to sit quietly. _Coward. _His mind yelled.

_— — —_

_"You should have stayed outta my business fire-boy. You should have listened."_

_"Let the children go. The police won't wait forever."_

_"I'm counting on it. It's over for me."_

_"You don't want to do this, Rodger."_

_"Really? Why am I standing here holding a gun?"_

Johnny came awake with a start. The effect of the drugs kept the worst of his pain at bay but caused him to drift in and out of troubled sleep. His examination and the short but emotional visit from Liz and Lisa left him spent. His tongue snaked out in an attempt to moisten dry lips. His inflamed throat caused him some discomfort; an after effect of the ventilation tube Brackett removed. He took in his surroundings, which caused an immediate fluctuation on the monitor as his gaze landed on his father.

"Here, this will help." His father's hand slipped around to support the back of his head. Johnny felt ice chips as at his lips. A few drops of the melted liquid trickled its way down his throat, soothing as it went. "It's good to finally see you awake."

He'd been unconscious longer than anyone anticipated. Brackett thoroughly updated him on his condition, mentioning, rather cautiously, his arm would need further evaluation once the swelling subsided. Johnny grasped the meaning clearly. Possible nerve damage. Fear settled in for a permanent stay.

His father removed his hand and Johnny settled back into his pillow. Interestingly his father seemed uncertain. _Is it genuine concern I see?_ _It's the drugs_. He decided. _I'm seeing something that isn't there. _He waited for his father to speak. The chirping monitor faded into the background.

"How are you feeling?"

_Unbelievably weak. Lucky to be alive by Brackett's account. _"Tired." Even now, he fought to stay awake. "Someone forgot to remove the sandpaper in my chest." A onset of coughing caused his vision to narrow, leaving him panting, sweat running down his temples.

"Easy." A gentle hand dabbed a cloth around his face. "That nice young nurse taking care of you, told me your running a slight fever."

Awkward silence filled the gap between father and son.

___He hasn't told me to leave, but n_ow that he's awake, I find myself tongue-tied. "I'll let you rest." John swiveled his chair making a run for the door.

"I'm sorry Lisa found out the way she did."

Although spoken softly the words bounced off the walls.

John slowly he maneuvered the chair around. "Rest," he urged, glancing at the monitor. _Now isn't the time for this conversation._ "We can discuss this later."

"Now, "Johnny said his speech sluggish, sleep trying to pull him down. He felt like a young boy again trying to defend himself. "I gave Liz my word it wouldn't come from me. Lisa worked it out." His eyes closed and he forced them open. Regret marked every word. "She asked me point blank—"

"Understand me, John," His father said voice flat. "You are not responsible. An apology isn't necessary. Lisa is intuitive. Enough said. I'll be by again later."

_Nice try, Dad. Eyes don't lie._

— — —

Roy turned the volume down on the HT as low as he dared.

"He's in and out of sleep," Alice whispered. "The medications are keeping him pretty dopey."

Two most notable signs of improvement; the absence of the of the ventilator and the nasogastric tube. _A positive start. _The HT belched out muted tones and he lifted it to his ear, listening intently. 110's call. His arm lowered. Swallowing past the hard pit in his throat, he stepped lightly toward the bed, lifting a stool along the way. He gingerly set it down and straddled it. The room Shrank. The stingy sharpness of disinfectant irritated his eyes; at least that is what he told himself as he swiped quickly at the wetness.

"I'm not dying."

Startled, Roy looked into dull medicated brown eyes. "Glad to know, Junior. You don't want to stress the nurses."


End file.
